


i get shy (but it means i love you)

by soobiscuits



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, M/M, when you want to read something you write it yourself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2019-11-13 22:19:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18040142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soobiscuits/pseuds/soobiscuits
Summary: Trapped in a loveless (soon-to-be) marriage, Mark doesn't think he'll grow to love his fiancé.Oh, how wrong he was.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'm back with another markhyuck! 
> 
> and, yes, it's sappy, too. and angsty because angst is in my blood /evil smile/
> 
> started on this because i wanted to read an arrangedmarriage!au but uh i couldn't find one so a writer's gotta do what she's gotta do. plus, it's a birthday gift to myself hehe
> 
> title taken from candlelight aka mark's favourite lyric in that song. what a coincidence that the line was sung by hyuck? (I THINK NOT)
> 
> tw: age-gap (if you’re fussy)
> 
> enjoy!

_“In the end, there doesn’t have to be anyone who understands you. There just has to be someone who wants to.”_

Mark furrows his brows, mind whirring to wrap itself around the sentences he just read. It’s not that he doesn’t understand what the words mean; the sentences are pretty simple and straightforward. It’s just that Mark doesn’t… _comprehend_.

A sharp knock on the glass pane snaps him out of his reverie, and Mark looks up from the book he’s perched on the steering wheel to find a youthful face peering into his car. It’s a face Mark hasn’t seen before, but he knows the person.

Or, at least, he thinks he does. (He doesn’t; Mark can’t even come up with a name.)

Tilting his head to the right, where the empty passenger seat is, he silently gestures for the stranger to board the vehicle. Which is what the young man— _or boy?_ —does, scurrying round the hood of the car to get to the passenger door. He opens it with a _clack_.

A scent of honey immediately floods Mark’s car the moment the youth enters, and Mark unconsciously scrunches his nose at the sweetness. He’s never been someone who appreciates sweet foodstuff. 

(Every day, Mark would find a single bag of either gummy bears or chocolates on his work desk [courtesy of his sweet-toothed colleague, Yukhei], but he would never open them. The candies are usually returned to their giver [much to Yukhei’s disappointment].

And Mark pretends Yukhei’s exaggerated pouts don’t affect him. [Of course, they do.]) 

The sweet scent is unfamiliar. But, somehow… Mark inexplicably likes it.

The boy ( _young man_ seems too old for someone who had just turned eighteen years of age—according to the information Mark’s been told) has with him his school bag, and his uniform is exactly the same one Mark recalls wearing when he was in high school. That was almost ten years ago. Mark feels old.

The car is silent, save for the sounds the boy is making as he unzips his bag and rummages in it. Turning his head back to the front, Mark slots his laminated maple leaf bookmark (from Vancouver’s autumn) into his book and closes it before gently placing it into the side compartment right next to him. 

He slides his hands onto the steering wheel, drums his fingers lightly on it. As someone who’s hardly adept at striking up conversations or making small talk (that’s Yukhei’s strength), Mark doesn’t know what to say to the boy seated next to him.

It’s justifiable. Probably. Since this is the first time they’ve met.

Yet, Mark reckons that he ought to speak up first since he’s the older one. And he would have been able to introduce himself if not for a rather nasal, honeyed voice that suddenly pipes up.

“I’m Donghyuck!” says the boy. “In case you don’t remember my name, I’m Lee Donghyuck. Nice to meet you.” 

Mark turns to look, and immediately sees the small packet of gummy bears hanging in the space between them, offered to him by a hand whose colour seems to be drenched in rich, warm chocolate. 

And Mark would know that the boy’s hand is _warm_ because, for some reason he can’t register, he reaches for the packet, the tips of his fingers accidentally grazing the boy’s palm as he takes the candy. The unfamiliar heat spreads through his hand. 

“Thanks,” Mark says as he pockets the gummy bears, dropping it into his dress shirt pocket. He curls his fingers around the steering wheel once more. It’s cold. Mark feels the warmth seeping out of that hand, the coolness of the wheel absorbing the heat. He finds himself inexplicably lamenting its loss. 

It’s strange. Mark doesn’t think he’s felt something like this before. 

Heat, the sensation rather familiar, comes from his right and Mark turns his head in the boy’s direction once again, only to be greeted by a pair of large, searching eyes. Mark thinks he jerked, reeling from the unexpectedly intense gaze he’s receiving but at the same time, he doesn’t think he did that. Either way, he blinks, not understanding what he’s supposed to do in response to… whatever the boy seems to be waiting for.

“Your name,” says the boy— _Donghyuck_ , Mark’s mind supplies—as though he just read Mark’s thoughts. “I know I’m supposed to remember but school has been tough on my brain today, so could you… tell me your name?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

Mark ignores the twitch of the corners of ~~the boy’s~~ Donghyuck’s lips, pretends not to have seen the mirth in the boy’s eyes. “Mark,” he says. “Mark Lee.” And although Mark knows he should smile, he doesn’t. Like his ‘love’ for sweet stuff, he’s never been someone who likes to smile. (That’s Yukhei’s strength, too.) 

Donghyuck, however, seems to be the opposite of Mark. A bright smile blooms across his face in the next moment as he claps his hands and exclaims, “Lee? Your surname is Lee, too? That’s great!” 

Mark visibly flinches and jerks when the boy suddenly reaches across the space between them to grab his hands and swing them. The delighted expression on his face is disconcerting. Mark feels faint.

“Now I won’t have to change my surname since, y’know, we’re getting married.”

 

\---

 

Mark wishes he could have been more capable in earning money.

He also wishes he possessed the ability to help his father differentiate heartless, money-minded bastards from friends.

For if he could have done all the above, or if he had way more savings than he does, Mark wouldn’t have had to painstakingly watch his father call up each of his friends and acquaintances to borrow money to save their family’s business from bankruptcy. Mark then also wouldn’t have had to resignedly tell his father to agree to the _ridiculous_ offer proposed by one of the elder’s high school best friends. His father’s friend would save their business but on one condition.

Mark would have to marry his son.

And now as Mark drives his– his– his _fiancé_ back to his—now _their_ —apartment, he still feels like everything is so, so surreal. Like, is this really happening? Is he going to marry for money?

He is. He _can_ , he _must_ , and he _has_ to because Mark knows just how much the fruit store means to both his parents. This business was the reason he was able to be educated all the way up to university.

Mark would do anything to help his beloved parents, even if that meant marrying a total stranger (who’s a whopping eight years younger; Mark _definitely_ feels old.).

The car ride back to ~~his~~ their home is stiflingly silent. From the corners of his eyes, Mark makes out ~~the boy~~ ~~his fiancé~~ Donghyuck looking out the window, his fingers absentmindedly tapping on the strap of his bag. The resulting _thump thump thump_ is erratic, and in other times when such inconsistent sounds are involved, Mark would feel annoyed and irritated. At that moment, however, Mark isn’t. His annoyance isn’t stirring, isn't simmering, isn’t boiling. If anything, he discovers that his index is softly tapping on the steering wheel to the rhythm Donghyuck’s got going on.

Upon belatedly realising (in muted horror) what he’s doing, Mark mentally slaps himself on the face. He inwardly berates himself for his uncharacteristic behaviour, reaching up to tug at his collar. It’s unusually tight, and Mark dumbly thinks that he’s suffocating. (It’s the silence that’s suffocating, frankly.) But he’s unwilling to loosen his tie, not wanting to look… easy in front of this supposed future husband of his. 

_Husband_ , Mark bitterly thinks. _I can’t believe I’m going to have a husband_.

 

Mark also _still_ can’t believe that he’s about to share his ~~bachelor’s pad~~ apartment with another.

“Please change into these slippers,” Mark instructs, gesturing to his own pair of home slippers before opening the shoe cupboard to retrieve a spare pair stored inside. He returns with the spare, only to find ~~the boy~~ ~~his fiancé~~ Donghyuck still standing at the same spot. Mark’s slippers remain untouched. 

Donghyuck sees the other pair of slippers in Mark’s hand, and he gently takes them from him. Setting them down softly next to Mark’s own, Donghyuck says, “It’s impolite to wear the owner’s slippers, and I reckoned you’d have a spare pair anyway, so I decided to wait for you to come back with them.” 

And there is that same intense gaze again. Those large, searching eyes. This time, though, there’s a small, seemingly uncertain smile accompanying them and although having experienced it only once, Mark knows Donghyuck’s waiting for him to make the next move.

With a grunt, Mark slips into his slippers and shuffles into ~~his~~ their apartment. He pauses by the living room, the hand holding onto his work satchel about to toss the bag onto the couch when he remembers that _I can’t behave like I usually do_ (because Usual Mark is messy and gives no fucks about the Usual Terrible State of his apartment). His arm jerks unnaturally as Mark force-restricts its routine movement. Pursing his lips, he slinks off to his room, not before forgetting to whirl around to see if Donghyuck is right behind him.

He is, and the way Donghyuck is biting on his bottom lip tells Mark that he might be trying not to laugh. He might as well do it, for the mirth in his eyes is so apparent. Dammit, the boy must have seen how Mark’s arm had twitched.

Mark clears his throat, hoping to salvage whatever dignity and-or authority he has left. He walks towards the rooms, his available hand motioning to the guest room—incidentally the _one and only_ other bedroom in the apartment—he’s prepared for ~~the stranger~~ ~~the boy~~ ~~his fiancé~~ Donghyuck. “Here’s your room. Your things were already sent here yesterday, so I moved them in for you. If you need anything, I’m just here.” And Mark points to the opened door directly opposite the guest room. “Please knock and wait for an answer before entering.”

Then, Mark steps towards his room, eager to dump his heavy, laptop-filled work satchel onto his bed before collecting his bath towel and pyjamas for a much-needed shower. It’s been a Long Day.

And he would have been able to do all that, if not for a nasal, honeyed voice that Mark instantly reacts to, despite having only heard it just today. It’s strange. It’s all _very strange_.

“We’re not… sharing a room?” Donghyuck tentatively asks, those eyes of his still large and searching when Mark reluctantly pivots back to look at him. The mirth in them has vanished, its replacement emotion that of uncertainty. “I– I mean–”

Donghyuck’s nervous. Although they’ve only met today and have interacted for less than two hours, Mark can tell that Donghyuck is nervous. Apprehensive. Fearful even, if Mark wants to be pessimistic. It’s not hard to think that way, not when he can clearly see how Donghyuck’s knuckles have gone white from tightly clutching the straps of his bag, how Donghyuck doesn’t seem to realise that distress is defining his facial expression, and how those large, wavering eyes of his scream a probable litany of _I don't know what to do I don't know what to do I don't know what to do_. 

This behaviour is a complete contrast to the loud, bubbly person who entered Mark’s car just two hours ago. It’s an entirely new facet of Donghyuck that Mark hasn’t banked on witnessing. But now that he has, and _is_ witnessing, he has to do something about it before the boy breaks down and panics.

“We…” Mark starts, mind whirring to come up with appropriate words to string together to form equally appropriate sentences that wouldn’t send Donghyuck into an unnecessary panic. “We’re not legally married.” And to send his point across, Mark raises his left hand and moves his bare ring finger. “So, I don–”

The sound of a zipper interrupts Mark and he pauses, only for his eyes to widen in the next moment as he registers Donghyuck’s red-rimmed eyes. The boy is digging in his bag while emitting soft, puppy-like whimpers that are inexplicably tugging on Mark’s heartstrings. It’s strange. This is all very strange.

Mark wants to ask what Donghyuck’s looking for in his bag, but he decides otherwise, knowing that he must have said something to trigger the boy’s sudden action. He thinks back, and that’s when it hits him. Mark mentally smacks his forehead.

“I–” he begins once more, voice slightly louder to catch Donghyuck’s attention. It works, for Donghyuck slowly redirects his attention to Mark, those eyes of his _still_ large and searching; his hand is still in his bag. “I meant that we’re not married–”—Panic washes over Mark when he sees how Donghyuck’s face darkens, and he quickly continues.—“yet! We’re not married _yet_. So, I don’t want us to share a room yet because our relationship isn’t… official. Yet.”

_And although you’ve shown me how brave and fearless you seem to be, I know you’re not. I can tell that you’re afraid, that you’re scared of all that is happening to us, to you._

Donghyuck doesn’t say anything. He does, however, nod a tiny bit, and that’s enough of an answer for Mark. He forces the corners of his lips to rise, to form a, hopefully, non-awkward smile as he motions towards the guest room. “Go ahead, rest. It’s been a long day.” Then, an afterthought. “Goodnight.”

Another tiny nod, and then Donghyuck’s stepping into the bedroom, bag in tow; his hand is still in it. Donghyuck shuts the door behind him with a soft _clack_ , only to open it in the next second, the small gap allowing Mark to catch a brief glimpse of large, searching eyes and a small smile before hearing the nasal, honeyed voice he’s now a little familiar with.

“Goodnight to you, too, Mark.”

 

\---

 

Mark wakes to the blaring of his alarm the next morning. And as he always does, he blindly gropes at his bedside table, fingers hoping to enclose around his phone. 

An object that most certainly _does not_ feel like his phone greets them instead.

Nonetheless, Mark grabs it and brings it close to his face, eyes cracking open to blearily look at what he’s got in his hand. His eyesight may be atrocious, but Mark’s 100% sure that he’s not holding onto his phone. His phone _most certainly_ isn’t round and silver and, uh, _what_ …? 

Since when did his phone turn into a ring?

To be more specific, after Mark slips on his glasses and his vision sharpens to that of high definition, it’s a double-banded silver ring. It’s a simple ring, no embellishments, no engravings.

Huh. 

_Where did this come from_ , Mark thinks as he fiddles with it. Sleep-addled, Mark’s mind doesn’t bother to register the question, doesn’t bother to find the answer. It doesn’t even detect that there’s a small smile playing across its owner’s lips, amusement swirling within crescent eyes.

Mark also doesn’t do anything about it, choosing to safely store the ring together in the box of a random single silver ear stud he found in the drawer of his bedside table. He slides the drawer shut, and with a grunt that Yukhei would associate with that of a grandpa, he extends his arms above his head to stretch them. 

Thereafter, he embarks on his morning routine.

 

It’s only when Mark passes by the ajar guest room door does he remember that he has a housemate (-slash-fiancé) now. 

Tentatively, he edges himself close to the door, fingers gently pushing it open as Mark peeks inside. “Hello?” he gingerly calls out, eyes darting around the room. It’s… empty. Donghyuck isn’t in the room.

Mark’s brows instantly furrow. If Donghyuck isn’t in here, where is he? 

It’s true when they say that with age comes wisdom. Instead of jumping to conclusions, Mark surveys the room. The boxes he had moved into the room for Donghyuck are gone; Donghyuck must have unpacked them last night. And the evidence for that assumption is all around the once-bare bedroom. The desk is adorned with several photo frames; the floor is strewn with papers; metal grills are tacked to the walls and photos are pegged onto them; fairy lights surround the headboard; and there’s a lion plushie on the neat, made bed. Even the bedsheets are different, and Mark chuckles at the adorable bear-printed sheets.

But, again, if Donghyuck isn’t here, where is he then?

It is as though _someone_ read his mind. For in the next moment, a loud noise shatters the tranquillity of the apartment, alerting Mark to the presence of another.

Traipsing to the kitchen (because the noise sounded eerily similar to the noise Mark generates whenever he accidentally drops the frying pan onto his kitchen flooring), Mark expects to see _him_. 

And, there _he_ is. 

Standing at the sink is the person Mark has been unconsciously worrying about. He seems to be washing something, seems to be humming a little upbeat tune, seems to be in a buoyant mood if the way he’s tilting his head from side to side while bouncing lightly on his feet is any indication. 

_Cute_ is the first word that comes to Mark’s mind and is the first thought that he thinks before catching himself. Inwardly reeling in horror at that thought, Mark doesn’t realise that his presence has been detected.

“Mark?”

The nasal, honeyed voice that Mark’s ears have somehow attuned themselves to seeps into Mark’s consciousness and effectively snaps him out of his self-induced daze. With a really intelligent blurt of a _huh_ , Mark looks up and finds Donghyuck gazing at him with those large, searching eyes of his. There’s a slight tilt to his head and Mark once again thinks to himself.

 _Cute._

And this time, he doesn’t reel in horror at that thought.

“Good morning!” Donghyuck suddenly greets, his tone and facial expression equally bright and jubilant. Mark is reminded of the sun. “I made breakfast!”

Following Donghyuck’s index finger, Mark sees two lunchboxes on the island counter. The nonverbal question of _what did you make for breakfast_ must have scrawled itself across Mark’s face for he hears Donghyuck speak again.

“There wasn’t much stocked in the kitchen so I made do with what I could find,” explains Donghyuck. “I made us egg and ham sandwiches!” And he opens one lunchbox, bringing it up and forward to show Mark what’s inside. “And in case the sandwich wasn’t enough, I made another two slices of french toast for you!”

After Mark has gotten a good look at the food items in the lunchbox that’s supposedly his, he lifts his gaze and is, for the umpteenth time, greeted with Donghyuck’s large, searching ~~and, honestly, pretty~~ eyes. They seem expectant, as though waiting for Mark to do something.

Mark isn’t dumb. He knows that the boy is waiting for him to say something, a _thank you_ or maybe a compliment. And although Mark, frankly, doesn’t want to say anything, he can’t overcome his conscience. 

_Just because you’re forced into this marriage doesn’t mean you can be a jerk to him._

Hence, Mark wills the corners of his lips to curl upwards. “Th– Thank you,” he says, stuttering. Mark hopes that his smile isn’t awkward-looking.

“You’re most welcome!”

Mark tells himself over and over and _over_ that the ~~dazzling~~ smile blooming on Donghyuck’s smile isn’t a pretty smile. 

(He fails spectacularly. For Donghyuck’s smile unbiddenly surfaces at the most spontaneous of times throughout the day. 

Mark wasn’t too productive at work that day.)

 

\--- 

 

“Care to share that wonderful-looking sandwich, Mark?”

“... I suppose s-- Oi! That’s way more than half! Way more than sharing!”

“Aww, c’mon, friend. Sharing is caring!”

“... Fine. But only for today. Please get your own breakfast tomorrow, Yukhei.”

“Heh, thanks. But... I actually do have my own breakfast. Jungwoo made a sandwich for me, too.”

“...”

“Oh! Your sandwich is the same as what Jungwoo made for me! Peanut butter and jelly!”

“Ass! Return me my half of my sandwich!”

“Donghyuck wouldn’t mind you sharing it with me!”

“H-He– Just give it back!”

 

\---

 

It’s in the evening of Day 4 of cohabiting with Donghyuck when Mark sees his fiancé fiddling with an object that looks _very_ familiar. 

And he would have asked about it _first_ if his mind didn’t notice how Donghyuck isn’t talking. In fact, Donghyuck hasn’t spoken a single word since getting into the car at school. 

They’re in the queue to enter their apartment building’s underground carpark and unlike most evenings (i.e., evenings of Days 1, 2, and 3) where the car would already be filled with the boy’s endless chatter of what happened at school, there isn’t any of that. Instead, the car is silent. The silence is stifling and although Mark finds Donghyuck’s chattering to be rather annoying at times (i.e., _every time_ he sends and fetches his fiancé to and from school and home for the past three days), he’d rather have _that_ over this silence. It’s, frankly, suffocating.

 _Did something happen at school?_ is Mark’s first thought when he wonders why Donghyuck isn’t talking. And he would have asked that if not for his mouth moving to speak even before his mind registers what it’s doing.

“Why do you have that?”

Upon closer inspection (or just Mark subtly turning his head while straining and squinting his eyes), he discovered that the item in Donghyuck’s fingers resemble the very object that he had found on his bedside table two mornings prior.

It’s a ring.

Donghyuck doesn’t reply immediately. He does stop turning the ring, his fingers bringing it up to his lips to press a light kiss onto it before letting it fall back against his neck. Without the usual stiff collar of Donghyuck’s high school uniform obscuring his neck—he’s wearing the school’s physical activity outfit instead—Mark can clearly see how the silver of both the ring and chain it’s hung on contrast ~~beautifully~~ against the boy’s chocolate-coloured skin.

“It’s… our ring,” Donghyuck murmurs. He plays with his fingers for a brief moment before going back to fiddling with his ring and chain instead. “It’s one-half of our wedding bands that I p– I-I mean _my family_ picked out for us.”

Donghyuck’s usual demeanour doesn’t appear when he says all that. He’s not bubbly, not cheerful, not _bright_. Mark doesn’t know why but he doesn’t deign to probe. Instead, he asks, “Then why aren’t you wearing it on your finger?”

It is as though Donghyuck has been waiting for this question, for he instantly snaps his head up and looks straight at Mark. His eyes are still large and searching, but this time Mark detects a hint of anger in them as well. He unconsciously leans a tad away from Donghyuck, inwardly wincing when he sees how the anger within Donghyuck’s eyes grow.

And it’s evident in the way Donghyuck scoffs. “What about you?” he retorts, tone scathing. “Why aren’t _you_ wearing your half of our rings on _your_ finger?”

Mark isn’t deaf. He hears the fury in Donghyuck’s words, hears the obvious tinge of disappointment laced within them. Mark isn’t dumb either. Despite all the indifference he’s been displaying, Mark _has_ been keeping count of the number of times he’d catch his fiancé staring at him since that fateful morning he woke up to the ring on his bedside table. In hindsight, now that he’s thinking about it, Mark belatedly realises that Donghyuck must have been looking to see if he had worn the ring.

Which Mark hadn’t, didn’t, and _wouldn’t_. 

In Mark’s defence of his non-action, he’d like to say that he shouldn’t be blamed for not wearing the ring. Reasons being a) he didn’t know what the ring was for, b) who it was from, and c) where it had come from. Yet, even though now he’s been told of the ring’s purpose, Mark still wouldn’t choose to slot it onto his ring finger.

It’s a choice that he desperately wants to have. He's already been forced into this marriage with Donghyuck, albeit having agreed to it (but with extreme reluctance), with absolutely no say in things regarding that. So, at the very least, Mark thinks he gets a say in this. Gets a choice in whether he wants to wear the ring for this period of time before the marriage is legalised. 

Mark has never wanted to marry someone like this, never wanted to marry someone he doesn’t love. This loveless marriage… Mark doesn’t know what to think of it. 

He does, however, know what to think of his half of the rings. His fiancé can get mad, sulk, and be all disappointed in him but Mark most definitely will _not_ wear the ring and that’s that.

But this thought—

_Just because you’re forced into this marriage doesn’t mean you can be a jerk to him._

—continues to resonate within him.

Mark sighs, knowing full well that if he was to be a jerk to Donghyuck, his conscience would prick at him. It’s at times like this that Mark _hates_ how he’s inherently “good”. 

“W-We’re not legally married yet,” Mark says, wincing when he stutters at the start. Great, now Donghyuck knows that he’s nervous and probably lying through his teeth. Not that he cares. Mark doesn’t care. He _doesn’t_. “As I said, we’re not–” 

“I heard you the first time. So, please, stop repeating it over and over. I get it, Mark. _I get it_.”

The annoyed cadence of Donghyuck’s words is rough on Mark’s ears, and although taken aback, Mark somehow finds himself feeling irritated. His irritation only increases when Donghyuck pointedly turns away from him and folds his arms across his chest. In the silence that descends upon them, Mark can clearly hear the soft _clink clink clink_ of silver as Donghyuck continues to play with the ring and chain around his neck. 

Four days with Donghyuck aren’t enough for Mark to be able to decipher the unreadable expression on his fiancé’s face. Nonetheless, he pretends that he didn’t see it. Pretends that the only reason he occasionally glances over at Donghyuck is that he’s bored of waiting in the queue and that he’s _responsible_ for his young fiancé’s well-being. 

Mark also pretends that Donghyuck’s behaviour doesn’t bother him.

He fails spectacularly once again. 

 

\---

 

“What’s for breakfast today, Mark?”

“Uh, I didn’t think I’d get any, but I’ve got buttermilk pancakes with honey on the side.”

“Why wouldn’t you get any breakfast today? And, ooh! Can I have one slice, my dear, dear, _dear_ friend?”

“Because I... Donghyuck... I don’t know. And, no, you may not have a slice.”

“Please? Sharing is caring!”

“No.”

“Mark…”

“I said no– Oi. Oi. Oi– _OI, WONG YUKHEI, SHOO! Hands off my precious pancakes!!_ ”

 

\---

 

It’s going to be a month since Donghyuck moved in with Mark.

Nothing has changed.

Mark still sends Donghyuck to school in the mornings and, if he’s able to, fetches him back home after school. The rides still consist of Donghyuck talking, talking, talking, while Mark doesn’t speak, doesn’t reply unless he absolutely has to (usually when his fiancé _stares_ expectantly at him).

(While Mark looks as though he’s indifferent to Donghyuck’s chatter, he actually _listens_ to him and ends up knowing a whole lot more about Donghyuck than he’d planned to.

Shockingly, Mark finds himself not hating it.)

Donghyuck still makes breakfast, storing them in lunchboxes of all shapes and sizes that Mark never knew he had. Breakfasts vary, from sandwiches to pancakes, to different types of porridge, and even to bacon, sausages, and eggs. Mark never knows what he’d eat every morning, but he does know (and admits) that he’s _blessed_.

They also _still_ don’t talk about the rings. Mark’s half of his and Donghyuck’s wedding bands still lay in the box in the drawer of his bedside table, untouched but surprisingly not un-thought of by its owner. Mark usually thinks of his ring at the most spontaneous of times, with most times happening whenever he chances upon Donghyuck playing with his. 

Donghyuck’s half of their wedding bands remain hung on the chain around his neck. He doesn't flaunt it, the silvers hidden under tees and uniform tops and pyjamas all the time. And Mark only knows that Donghyuck still has the ring on his chain because sometimes he notices the outline of it under his fiancé’s tops. 

Mark also knows that the ring is still on the chain whenever Donghyuck sits at the living room, body leaning against the full-length windows, legs pulled up to his chest. The boy would reach into his shirt, fingers dipping under the collar before emerging with the silvers. And as he looks out the window, his thumb and index finger start to turn the ring over and over between them.

It’s strange. For when it happens the first time Mark can’t help but notice how the boy doesn’t seem to be _looking_ at whatever is out there. And he knows this because although Mark’s only known Donghyuck for almost a month, it’s not hard to see how his fiancé’s eyes… _shine_. Mark doesn’t want to admit it but Donghyuck’s eyes remind him of tiny orbs of fire. They blaze, bright and fiery, as though nothing can extinguish the light in them. 

Yet, when Donghyuck’s sitting there listlessly, there’s no fire in his eyes. 

There's no life in them, as though the Donghyuck sitting there is just a shell.

The ‘good’ in Mark tells him to intervene, to go over and talk to his fiancé, ask what’s wrong. Yet, the ‘Mark’ in Mark tells him not to. Who's Donghyuck to him? He's just a stranger, not even an acquaintance because one month of co-habitation and Mark hasn’t once spoken to Donghyuck on his own accord. ( _Yes_ , Mark is someone like that.)

The ‘Mark’ in him wins, and Mark doesn’t go over. He just goes back to the spreadsheet on his laptop, pretends that the boy’s behaviour doesn’t worry him at all.

Pretends not to have seen Donghyuck discreetly glancing over, the corners of his lips curling slightly downwards.


	2. Chapter 2

Mark returns home from work late one Friday night to find Donghyuck draped over the couch, a hand in the large bowl of potato chips that’s on the coffee table, eyes fixated on the television screen.

While he has never once wondered if the _beep_ of his front door’s passcode lock could be heard from the living room (or anywhere else in the apartment), Mark highly thinks it’s the reason why the familiar nasal, honeyed voice instantly greets him the moment he steps onto the parquet flooring. (Or maybe it was that _bang_ when he accidentally let go of the shoe cupboard door.)

“Welcome home!”

Donghyuck’s head pops up over the back of the couch when Mark shuffles past and _thank goodness_ Mark’s hands are gripping onto the strap of his work satchel for the mess of hair upon Donghyuck’s head is inexplicably calling out to him for a good pat-down. Also, the lights in the living room may have been dimmed, but the space seems to have suddenly gotten brighter the instant the boy smiles. 

“Wanna watch movies with me?” asks Donghyuck as he props his chin on the back of the couch. “I’m marathoning all eight films of Harry Potter.”

…Dammit.

Is Donghyuck doing this on purpose because he _knows_? Was he told this bit of information by someone? Did Mark’s parents betray him? Because Mark’s pretty certain he hadn’t told his fiancé that he’s a Potterhead. 

(And that the instalment Donghyuck has got playing on the television at that very moment is Mark’s favourite. Harry and Ron’s hair were superb in _the Prisoner of Azkaban_ before everything started going downhill in _the Goblet of Fire_.) 

“I’m… tired. So, no.” Then, a quick afterthought paired with a small, _small_ smile. “Thanks for asking, though.”

The smile on Donghyuck’s face wanes a little when Mark rejects his offer, but Mark’s follow-up earns himself a chirpy _okie dokie, enjoy your shower!_

And as Mark traipses into his bedroom, the grin on Donghyuck’s face makes him wonder just how bright his smiles can be.

 

Sometime later, Mark emerges from the bathroom and goes to the kitchen to dump his soiled garments into the laundry hamper. He’s on his way back to his bedroom when he remembers that Donghyuck’s watching a movie in the living room.

Or he _was_ watching a movie.

When Mark pads over to the living room, the third instalment is still playing on the television screen, the _whoosh_ of the Dementors being pushed away by Harry’s Patronus resounding around the living room. The large bowl of chips (now half empty) is still on the coffee table, the remote control next to it. Mark grabs it, wanting to decrease the volume because he finds it a tad too loud. His thumb is hovering above the button when a loud snore suddenly comes from behind him.

Mark robotically turns around, only to have to clap a hand over his mouth before he bursts into laughter.

For on the couch rests a sleeping Donghyuck. He has an arm extended above his head, the other dangling over the edge of the couch. One of his ~~long~~ legs is draped over the back of the couch while the other stretches over what’s left of the couch. His mouth is comically wide open, a corner of his lips glistening. Even without his spectacles, Mark can clearly make out the boy’s prominent two front teeth. 

( _Cute_ , Mark’s mind immediately supplies.) 

Evidently, the snore was emitted by Donghyuck. And when he lets out another loud one, Mark can't help but giggle as though he’s never heard someone snore before. (He has; Yukhei is the reason Mark chose to live alone after graduating from university.) 

This is a side of his fiancé that Mark doesn’t know and hasn't seen. As someone with manners, he knows not to enter Donghyuck’s bedroom without permission (not that he _has_ or _would_ even with the boy’s word). And although Donghyuck has had nightly movie sessions in the living room, Mark hasn’t walked in on mornings to the boy asleep on the couch before. So, it’s… new. 

A high-pitched whine captures Mark’s attention, and he has to bite down on his bottom lip to prevent yet another giggle from slipping past his lips because, _dammit_ , his fiancé is doing something cute again. The boy seems to be eating something in his dream, his mouth opening and closing and making those annoying sounds that can be heard when people chew loudly. Yet, at that moment, Mark doesn’t find the sounds irritating. If anything, he finds them rather endearing.

All of a sudden, Donghyuck brings his limbs together and _rolls_ , and he might have fallen off the edge of the couch if Mark hadn’t been standing there. Although having prevented his fiancé from dropping onto the carpet, Mark’s legs doesn’t stop the boy’s head from hanging off the edge. A phantom ache creeps into Mark’s neck when he sees how stretched the back of Donghyuck’s neck is, revealing smooth, chocolate-coloured skin. 

Then, his mind makes a split-second decision without consulting the rest of him ~~(not that there would have been any rejections)~~.

Arms slide under Donghyuck’s neck and knees in the next moment, and Mark hefts the boy up and away from the couch with a soft grunt. “You’re actually quite heavy,” Mark softly comments as he tries to gently adjust Donghyuck’s position within his arms. It’s a challenge to do so without jostling his fiancé too much but Mark manages to get Donghyuck’s arms to a hopefully-comfortable position while his head rests against Mark’s chest. 

It’s warm. Donghyuck is emanating heat and gently heating up the spots where his body is in contact with Mark’s. The crook of Mark’s elbows as they cradle Donghyuck’s knees and neck. The pads of Mark’s left fingers as they tenderly curl around Donghyuck’s upper arm. 

The spot above Mark’s heart as Donghyuck’s head lays securely on it.

Donghyuck whimpers, the sound attracting Mark’s attention and when he looks down at the boy, he realises that this might be the first time he’s this close to his fiancé. 

It’s foreign. While Mark sees Donghyuck’s face every day, he’s never realised that the boy’s eyelashes are actually this short. Their density makes up for it, though. And there’s his button nose, currently scrunching up as Donghyuck yawns before nuzzling his face against Mark’s chest. The corners of his lips subtly curl upwards. 

Mark wonders if he’s having a fever. His cheeks are suddenly warm, and his body is heating up. He feels like someone just threw warm water at him. 

He also wonders if he’s going into cardiac arrest because Donghyuck only just said _one_ word and Mark feels as though his heart is going to rip its way out of his chest and run away.

Alarmed, Mark immediately dismisses all his suspicions and quickly makes his way to Donghyuck’s room. The sight of an encased baseball cap on the boy’s desk piques Mark’s interest but the weight in his arms doesn’t allow him to feed his curiosity. He gently sets the boy down onto his bed, pulls the comforter over him and tucks his arms in. A moment of hesitation as Mark hovers above Donghyuck is all that’s needed for Mark’s mind to make yet another split-second decision (without consulting the rest of him again). 

Mark lightly presses his lips onto Donghyuck’s forehead.

_Goodnight. Thanks for calling out to me in your dreams._

 

\---

 

“How’s… Donghyuck, son?”

“He’s… fine.”

“Hmm, I assume that you’ve been all lovey dovey with him?”

“… Why do you assume that, Mom?”

“Because of that photo on Donghyuck’s Instagram! What a nice shot of entwined hands with the morning sunlight streaming through the curtains as a backdrop. Beautiful! Simply beautiful! My future son-in-law takes such pretty photos.”

“Wha– I– I mean, _yeah_. Dong– _He_ takes really pretty photos.”

“It’s a very wonderful discovery!”

“It sure is...”

“Anyway. I know you know this but I’m still going to nag at you.”

“... What, Mom?”

“Sharing a bed with Donghyuck is fine, son, but don’t push boundaries! Don’t keep him up too late at night! The boy still has school every day!”

“I-I– I would nev– _Mother_!”

 

\---

 

Mark regrets telling Yukhei about Donghyuck. 

(And, no, it’s not because of the numerous breakfasts he’s had to share with his best-friend-slash-colleague.)

“I thought you said you weren’t sharing a room with your fiancé?” asks Yukhei after he swallows a bite of the sandwich Jungwoo (The Boyfriend) made for him. “So, what was up with Donghyuck’s upload on Instagram?”

Mark almost chokes on the large bite of his sandwich in his mouth. He dismisses Yukhei’s offer of his orange juice, choosing to thump his chest instead. The mouthful slinks down his throat horribly. Sourness suddenly fills his mouth. 

“I don’t know,” Mark says, looking down at the bacon and cheese toast in his hands. The aluminium foil wrapped around it kept it warm, even though it’s been almost one and half hours since Donghyuck made it. The image of a smiling Donghyuck handing it to him just before getting off the car surfaces in his head.

_“Mark! Enjoy! And have a good day at work!”_

Mark bites on his lower lip, brows furrowed. 

“I honestly don’t know.”

 

And as evening comes around, Mark _still_ doesn’t know. 

Although very much distracted by thoughts of his fiancé’s series of actions (both online and offline), Mark still managed to get his work done and left his office on time to pick Donghyuck up from school. He’s waiting for the boy at his school’s pick-up point, a book splayed across his lap, eyes looking at the words printed on its pages.

Or _supposedly_ looking.

Mark may seem like he’s reading but, frankly, he’s not. His eyes haven’t been _looking_ at the words for a while now, his mind no longer processing print. Instead, it’s been processing the numerous questions flooding it. Questions pertaining to Donghyuck’s unexpected online act (a.k.a. The Instagram Update [in Yukhei’s words]). 

_When did he take it? How did he take it? Why did he take it?_

_And... did he really lay down next to me when that photo was taken?_

The sound of a book shutting echoes within the car in the next moment and it snaps Mark out of his bubble of thoughts. He finds that he’s closed the book and has his phone in his hands. Finds (in horror) that he’s looking at the very photograph that’s causing him to think (this overly much). 

It really is a pretty shot; Mark reluctantly admits to himself. A pair of entwined hands pictured against the backdrop of the semi-opaque curtains in his bedroom, with thin streams of sunlight filtering in and setting the space aglow. The quality of the photograph isn’t all that clear (as with all Instagram uploads) but Mark still makes out how his and Donghyuck’s hands look so different.

The backlit sunlight may have darkened the complexion of both their hands, but Mark clearly sees how Donghyuck’s skin is much darker than his own. And the shot shows that—the stark contrast of milky-white and chocolate-brown skins.

 _Pretty_ , Mark’s mind immediately (and unhelpfully) supplies. 

He quickly catches himself, though, brows furrowing. They furrow deeper when Mark reads the caption.

_“💚”_

Confusion washes over him in the next instance, but before Mark can even generate a single thought about it, a soft knock on his side of the window attracts his attention. A familiar face greets him when Mark turns to look.

“I’m so sorry.” is the first thing Mark hears after the pane fully rolls down. He barely has time to register the frown on Donghyuck’s face before the nasal, honeyed voice he’s been hearing for the past month and a half enters his ears once again. “But my history teacher just told us to stay back for a supplementary night lesson.”

The frown on Donghyuck’s face deepens and Mark’s chest inexplicably tightens. “I was about to text you but then I saw your car idling here so I came over to tell you instead.” The boy bites on his lower lip as he mumbles, “I’m really sorry that you drove over for nothing, and that you’re going to have to dine outside tonight.”

Mark wonders if Donghyuck knows that those large eyes of his are beginning to glisten. He doesn’t mention it though, choosing to reply with a—

“… What about your dinner, then?” 

—only to feel his heart lurching in his chest for _oh my god_ did he just ask Donghyuck a question on his accord?

The frown on Donghyuck’s face suddenly changes to that of a small smile. “No worries! I’m actually out now to grab dinner before the lesson starts in an hour.” He turns his head to the right, jerking a thumb in the same direction. “I’m eating with my classmate.”

Curiosity killed the cat.

Or more specifically, curiosity killed the _Mark_.

For when Mark shifts himself in his seat in order to see who his fiancé is pointing at, he regrets doing so. He feels something rearing in his chest, a feeling that he hasn’t felt before. It stings, his chest is aching all of a sudden, and Mark doesn’t know that both his hands are paling as they grip so tightly onto his phone. 

Beyond Donghyuck’s thumb stands a young man (“ _Boy_ ,” Mark’s mind ~~bitterly~~ thinks.) dressed in an identical school uniform as Donghyuck. He’s doing something on his phone, attention wholly occupied by it. It’s only when Donghyuck loudly calls out to him with a _Oi, Lee Jeno!_ does he look up and— _shit_ —smile a smile so bright, Mark thinks he might go blind. (An exaggeration. But, seriously, where are his eyes??) 

As dazzling as this stranger’s smile may be, it doesn’t rival Donghyuck’s. Mark refuses to attribute the reasoning of that abrupt thought to that Donghyuck has the prettiest smiling face Mark has ever seen. Instead, he justifies it with that he finds the smile of this stranger, this _Lee Jeno_ , somewhat unsettling. Mark can’t put a finger on why he feels a tad creeped out. Despite all that though, he can’t help but (reluctantly) admit that, yes, Donghyuck’s ~~Friend~~ _classmate_ is good-looking. 

“Say hi,” Donghyuck says as Jeno pockets his phone and steps forward. “This is Mark.”

(Mark doesn’t know why he expected Donghyuck to peg on _my fiancé_ after saying his name.)

“Hello,” the ~~boy~~ young man says. The smile on his face doesn’t falter even though he’s speaking. “I’m Jeno, Donghyuck’s best friend.”

“Hey… Jeno, nice to meet you. I’m Mark.” Although inexplicably disappointed, Mark tries to keep his tone neutral as he replies and extends a hand through the open window. He _is_ the older one amongst them. There’s absolutely no need to stoop to a high-schooler’s level of (childish) thinking just because Mark thinks he heard an emphasis when Donghyuck’s _classmate_ said the word ‘best’.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

Jeno returns the handshake, and Mark definitely _did not_ imagine the hard grip Donghyuck’s classmate had on his hand. 

Seemingly oblivious to the subtly electrified atmosphere, Donghyuck sends a bright, pretty smile in Mark’s direction as he says, “Thanks for understanding, Mark. Have a great dinner and I’ll… see you at home la–”

“I’ll come pick you–”

“I’ll send Hyuck home safely after the lesson ends so you don’t have to waste your gas money, Mark.”

Once again, Mark wonders if he’s hearing things. Did this _boy_ just emphasise his name? _And interrupt me!?_

“Oh! Yeah, Jeno lives near your house so we can go home together afterwards,” Donghyuck says. “I’ll text you when I’m on the bus.” 

Mark feels strange when he finds himself unwilling to agree to Donghyuck’s suggestion but decides that it would be _stranger_ if he disagrees with it (given his past month and a half of aloofness towards his fiancé). But it’s definitely fucking weird when he finds himself saying words that he never thought he would say. 

“… Come home safely.”

And the bizarreness of his action shows on Donghyuck’s face when shock defines his facial expression. It vanishes in the next moment though. “Um, okay. I-I will. You drive home safely, Mark.”

As Mark looks at the rear-view mirror, his eyes fixated on the back view of his fiancé, he unconsciously chuckles when the image of a blushing Donghyuck surfaces in his head. The tinge of pink that paints the boy’s cheeks was pretty, and it was cute how his two front teeth bit his bottom lip. 

Yet, when Mark emerges from his relish and returns to ~~spying~~ looking at the mirror, the smile on his face drops instantly. For around Donghyuck’s shoulders is Jeno’s arm, and around Jeno’s waist is a familiar pair of arms. The amount of joy brightening up the grin on Donghyuck’s face is an amount that Mark hasn’t seen present in the smiles directed at him before.

That _something_ rears in Mark’s chest again and now he recognises the emotion. He just never thought he’d ever feel like that. 

Never thought that he’d be jealous because of Donghyuck.

 

\---

 

“Is that…”

“Yeah, salmon.”

“In a sandwich!? And I spy another lunchbox…”

“Donghyuck made me lunch, too.”

“Did something good happen? Your fiancé must have been in a good mood!”

“Um. Well, he _has_ been smiling a lot these two days, not sure why though.”

“Aye! You must have made him happy somehow!”

“… Stop wiggling your brows, Yukhei.”

“I can’t help it if they want to wiggle, _Mark_.”

“Just shut up and eat your tuna.”

 

\---

 

Donghyuck’s watching movies again when Mark returns home late from work one night. 

“I’m marathoning Marvel movies!” Donghyuck shouts as Mark changes into his lounge slippers. He shuffles to the living room and glances at the screen; credits are playing. “Wanna watch with me? It’s going to be Iron Man 3 after this.” The boy on the couch looks up at him, eyes expectant. 

_Will you fall asleep again this time_ is Mark’s first thought when he recalls the last time Donghyuck had his movie night. He shakes his head to dispel that thought, only to realise that Donghyuck might be taking his action to be that of rejection. He’s not wrong, and upon seeing how Donghyuck’s face instantly drops, Mark quickly mumbles, “… Okay.”

The sun is _nothing_ next to Donghyuck’s resulting smile.

“Yay!” cheers Donghyuck as he punches a fist into the air. “Do you want popcorn or chips? Coke or Sprite? Are you a cushions-with-movies person or the nah-no-cushions kind? How about lighting? Dim or full-on brightness?”

Unexpectedly thrown into a flurry of questions, Mark doesn’t know which one to reply first (partially because he has forgotten what Donghyuck had asked). He does, however, vaguely remember the first and the last, and decides to answer those. “Popcorn. Sweet ones,” Mark says while scratching the back of his neck (because he’s, _yes_ , flustered). “I also prefer dim lighting, like in cinemas.” 

“Note taken!” Donghyuck immediately exclaims. “Drinks?”

“Sprite, thanks.” 

The boy does yet another fist pump in the air. “I knew it! I knew you’re a Sprite person like I am! Coke is so overrated, and did you know that it can be used to wash toilet bowls? Eww!”

In the face of Donghyuck’s (extreme and surprising yet also unsurprising) enthusiasm, Mark almost bursts out laughing. He doesn’t, of course. He’s fucking twenty-six and he has an image to maintain. “Great,” says Mark, smiling. “Now I’ll just go and–”

“Oh. _Oh_!” Donghyuck’s eyes widen in realisation and he gestures in the direction of the bedrooms. “Please go wash up! I’ll get everything ready and wait for you– I mean– I’ll wait– Uh–” Donghyuck’s face suddenly goes red. _Super_ red. “I’ll be here… with everything.”

Almost three months of living with Donghyuck and Mark’s dictionary for his fiancé consists of only a few select words. And one of the words that Mark would like to use to describe the boy right now is _adorable_. (It’s, unfortunately, a recurrent word because almost everything Donghyuck does is fucking adorable to Mark.)

“Okay.” Pretending not to be seeing how unexpectedly embarrassed and bashful the boy is, Mark nods and makes a move to go to his bedroom. “I’ll be right back… _Donghyuck_.”

Shutting his bedroom door behind him, Mark clenches his fists and tries hard not to smile to himself. He fails, but he’s not the least bit upset because Donghyuck’s expression of unadulterated surprise was absolutely _adorable_ (see what Mark meant). Mark wishes he could have snapped a shot for memories’ sake. 

(And maybe— _just maybe_ —he’d use it as a wallpaper for one of his gadgets.

As an act, of course. To keep up with the notion that they’re on good-almost-to-be-married-terms.

Mark most certainly _isn’t_ using it because he wants to be reminded of how he has a cute fiancé. Nope. Absolutely not.)

 

(Donghyuck does end up falling asleep. _Again_.

And Mark knows that he would. The telltale [not-that-discreet] yawns, the [adorable] rubbing of eyes, and the slight pout of lips—it was only a matter of time his fiancé succumbs to his sleepiness. 

Yet, long before Donghyuck even _actually_ falls asleep, Mark has been subtly scooting over to the boy’s side of the couch, hoping to be within Donghyuck’s radius to catch him before he falls over. He’s a foot away from the boy when Donghyuck suddenly slumps away from him. With a surprised yelp, Mark extends an arm over to haul Donghyuck over to his side. 

And now, he has a fiancé snoring away on his lap, hands adorably balled together and resting on Mark’s knees. Donghyuck’s messy bed of hair tickles Mark’s exposed thighs but Mark thinks nothing of it. If there’s anything that Mark’s thinking of, it’s how his fingers are itching and how his mind is urging him to do something (without consulting the rest of him _again_ ).

So, when Mark is roused awake the next morning by an equally sleep-addled Donghyuck [with a cute cute _cute_ mumble-yawn of _g’morning Mark_ ], he wants to kill himself. Wants to find a hole and hide in it and never emerge again. Or maybe, he just needs to change his brain.

Because he has a hand in Donghyuck’s hair, several strands gently grasped in his fingers.)

 

\---

 

“You’re being awfully quiet today, Mark.”

“… Can’t I just enjoy my breakfast in peace, Yukhei?”

“You can… Or you can also spill the beans as to why you keep staring at your hand, _Markie-poo_.”

“… I have nothing to spill, Wong Yukhei, so shut up and–”

“AHA! So defensive! Something must have happened! SOMETHING MUST HAVE HAPPENED SO HURRY UP AND SP– MMPFG–”

“No one will think you’re mute if you don’t speak, my _dear_ friend.”

 

\---

 

Mark returns home from work one Friday evening to find that Donghyuck isn’t home. 

Worry instantly washes over him, causing his brows to furrow and the corners of his lips to curl downwards. Yet, Mark doesn’t think (much) about it. “Maybe his supplementary lesson ran late and he’s on his way home now,” he says to himself as he backs out of Donghyuck’s room after checking to see if he’s in there. The encased baseball cap on Donghyuck’s desk still piques Mark’s interest, but he won’t ask the boy about it if he himself doesn’t speak up about it first. 

Mark doesn’t have to know _everything_ about his fiancé.

But it’s when the clock strikes fourteen minutes to midnight and Mark’s been failing to call through to Donghyuck’s phone does he realise that he actually doesn’t know much about Donghyuck. Or, to be way more specific (and harsher), Mark knows absolutely _nothing_ about his fiancé at all.

The failed calls and unanswered texts are testimonies of when Donghyuck doesn’t pick up or reply to them, Mark would never know where he is or what he’s doing. And that feeling of _not knowing_ sucks. Mark finds his chest inexplicably hurting and regret belatedly washes over him. If only he had taken the initiative to talk to the boy, to find out things about him, to discover his fiancé’s world. Sadly, there’s nothing he can do about it now. 

It’s four minutes to midnight and Donghyuck _still_ isn’t home. Granted, Mark has been eighteen years old once, and he understands that it’s a Friday night and Donghyuck may be out gallivanting with his friends at who-knows-where and doing who-knows-what but he should at least have the decency to inform Mark about it? 

While it’s true that their (almost-)marriage wasn’t proposed out of love for each other but isn’t it only right to let the other party know of his plans beforehand? Or, at the very least, update the other with information about such spontaneous plans? How hard can it be to reply to a fucking three-word _where are you_ text? 

It’s the time of three minutes _after_ midnight and utter, _utter_ desperation that causes Mark to make the dumb decision of calling his in-laws, only to have to apologise for waking them up and repeatedly splutter reassurances of _no, mam, this is just a courtesy call_ and _yes hyuck is just fine, ma– mother_ and _sure, mother, we’ll visit you and father soon_. Hanging up, Mark immediately thinks, _of-fucking-course Donghyuck’s parents wouldn’t know where their son is_. He definitely needs a change of brain.

The familiar _beep_ of the front door’s passcode lock interrupts Mark’s composing of the twenty-sixth text he’s about to send Donghyuck, and he looks up to see his fiancé stepping through the door. 

With his arms wrapped around someone.

The _something_ in Mark’s chest instantly rears. And although it’s been a while since its first appearance, Mark discovers that his jealousy seems to have only grown stronger. He doesn’t know what to think of it. 

He doesn’t have the time to anyway, not when the recollection of _that_ day when his jealousy first surfaced in him swims into his mind. No wonder the _someone_ looks so familiar. It’s that classmate of Donghyuck’s from that day.

“Oh, Mark!” Donghyuck squeaks, looking genuinely surprised. He quickly detaches himself from his classmate and toes off his shoes before taking a step up onto the apartment’s parquet flooring. “You’re… awake.” 

Next to him, the _someone_ squats. He pushes Donghyuck’s lounge slippers in front of Donghyuck’s feet before nudging him. And when Donghyuck looks down, that smiley face from back then forms on his face. Donghyuck slips into his slippers and smiles back.

Fucking hell. 

Mark clenches his fists behind his back, the hard edges of his phone digging rather painfully into his right palm. He feels his jealousy whipping up a storm within him, a fire of fury raging painfully in his throat. The combination of them both probably isn’t doing his expression very well—Mark’s certain that there’s a deep scowl on his face if his fiancé’s ashen face is an indication.

Despite his whirlwind of shitty emotions, Mark forces himself to speak in a neutral tone, as though he’s not mad and jealous (of what he actually doesn’t know). “I was waiting for you,” he says as he walks towards Donghyuck, his steps firm yet silent on the parquet flooring. “I called and texted you, but I didn’t get any reply.” And to make a point, Mark brandishes his phone from behind him, shakes it in front of Donghyuck’s face.

Donghyuck immediately swings his haversack to the front, unzips it, digs into it. He emerges with his phone and proceeds to tap on the screen with a curious _someone_ peering over his shoulder. 

Mark clenches his fists again. There’s absolutely _no need_ to hook your fucking chin over Donghyuck’s shoulder, _classmate_. 

Seconds later, Donghyuck emits a loud squawk. 

“Oh god,” he says, thumb still scrolling down his phone screen, its bright light reflecting off of those large, guilt-ridden eyes of his. “I was so caught up in revising that I hadn’t realised…” Donghyuck looks up and at Mark. “I am so sorry. I am so, so, _so_ sorry, Mark.”

In the face of his fiancé’s sincerity and utter helplessness, Mark can only sigh. He feels less furious now, feels his anger gradually seeping out of him. Though, his jealousy remains, simmering within him. Mark thinks as long as that _someone_ is present, the _something_ within him will never disappear.

“It’s fine,” Mark says, closing his eyes while bringing a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “At least you’re home now.”

“Still, I’m so–”

“Hyuck, he already said it’s fine. So, stop apologising.”

The foreign voice causes Mark’s eyes to fly open. Though, he immediately wishes he hadn’t done that. For the wistful smile that’s on Donghyuck’s face pricks his heart, and the fact that the boy’s smile (albeit sad-looking) isn’t directed at him somehow makes the stab at that precious organ more painful. 

And that has been occurring more frequently lately. Pain inflicting itself on Mark’s heart with no explanation whatsoever provided to his mind for justification. It just… hurts. 

Mark’s heart aches when he sees Donghyuck staggering through the front door exhausted after a long day at school; when Donghyuck yawns while making their breakfast in the morning; when Donghyuck falls asleep on the couch, homework hugged to his chest; when Donghyuck struggles to stay awake during some dinners; when Donghyuck frowns; when Donghyuck fiddles with his ring and chain while sitting by the living room windows.

When Donghyuck is smiling at someone else.

Contrary to what everyone (or just Yukhei) thinks about Mark and how he handles ‘feelings’, Mark’s no escapee. Of course, like everyone else, he would deny having developed any feelings at first. But realisation would gradually, slowly, _surely_ dawn on him, and then he’d be hit with a revelation. An epiphany. 

Eureka.

So, Mark knows. He knows that he’s developed feelings for the other party in this arranged, love-less marriage (not anymore, at least from Mark’s end). He knows that he’s developed feelings for his fiancé who still keeps his half of their wedding bands on a chain and close to his heart. He knows that sometime within these three months, somewhere along the way of co-habiting with the person, somehow in a cliché plot twist of sorts, he’s grown to like the boy by the name of Lee Donghyuck.

(Loving Donghyuck isn’t something Mark’s certain he’s doing just yet. He’s not too far off, though. His fiancé is surprisingly capable of eliciting emotions Mark hadn’t known he would ever feel.)

A flurry of voices snaps Mark out of his reverie, and a frown instantly forms on his face when he registers his fiancé being pulled into an embrace by The _Classmate_. He narrows his eyes at the pair of arms circled around Donghyuck’s waist, a hand slowly sliding down towards his ass before patting it. Mark sees red.

Yet, as the oldest person in this apartment, he doesn’t flare up. He suppresses his fury, tries to school his voice into utmost neutrality as he ~~orders~~ says—

“Donghyuck, c’mere.”

—with a beckoning of a hand.

It’s absolutely satisfying for Mark to see Donghyuck immediately padding over to him after chirping a _okay coming_. (He’s tempted to slap on a smirk to annoy The Classmate but _of course_ he doesn’t.) But the satisfaction momentarily drains out of him when Mark feels Donghyuck wrapping his arms around _his_ waist, head resting against his chest. He instantly stiffens, taken aback by the boy’s actions. The urge to smirk dissipates as quickly as it had arrived.

The spot on Mark’s chest where Donghyuck’s cheek lay inexplicably itches when Donghyuck says, “Thanks for sending me back, Jeno. Text me when you’re home, ‘kay? Get home safely!” And it itches _more_ when Donghyuck nuzzles against that very spot. Mark thinks he’s going to go into cardiac arrest soon.

Despite what prejudices Mark has against him, he still calmly bids goodbye to The Classmate, wishes him a safe trip back home in whatever transportation he’s going to take at this godforsaken hour. The Classmate— _Jeno_ —nods; the fucking blinding-but-not-as-blinding-as-Donghyuck’s eye-smile returns. “I will, thank you. Goodnight, Hyuck! Sweet dreams.” 

And just when Mark thought he’s heard the end of it, Jeno whirls around from where he’s standing at the front door and says, pointedly only to Donghyuck, “Dream of me.” Then, he _winks_ (and bolts).

If Mark didn’t have Donghyuck wrapped around him, he’s pretty sure he would have dashed forward and done something to The Classmate. Mark’s never wanted to punch someone so much in all his twenty-six years of living. Oh, what is his jealousy doing to him. 

The loss of warmth around his waist breaks Mark out of his anger. He looks down to see a familiar pair of large eyes staring up at him. “Thanks for waiting up for me,” says Donghyuck, smiling that pretty smile of his.

Mark gulps, suddenly thinking about how if he were to accidentally fall into his fiancé’s eyes, he’d probably get lost in their depths. “Y-You’re welcome,” he says, mentally slapping himself for stammering. “But where were you and what were you doing?”

“Oh! I was revising for the upcoming mid-year exams at Jeno’s,” Donghyuck replies. As if to make a point, he lifts his bag a little. “It was a spontaneous thing, so I forgot to inform you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh. Well, make sure you remember to tell me about such stuff next time. I don’t want to have to needlessly worry about you.”

It’s as though a switch has been flipped within Mark because _what did I just hear myself say?_ At his fiancé’s sudden sharpness of tone, Donghyuck flinches and Mark wants to slap himself. What the heck is wrong with him?

“… I’m sorry, Mark,” murmurs Donghyuck as he drops his head. “I’ll… remember to tell you next time.”

Mark wants to rewind time, wants to take back his words. He hadn’t meant to say all that. But it’s as though some higher power is against Mark, as though his body is controlled by someone who _detests_ him. Pursing his lips, he coldly says, “Now that you’re home, I’m going to bed.” And he turns, taking a step towards the bedrooms.

“Mark?” 

Donghyuck calls from behind; Mark halts mid-step. 

“Why do you care if I’m not home?”

An answer instantly forms in Mark’s head. But it’s an answer that was formed against his will. It’s an answer that Mark knows that Donghyuck most definitely would _never_ want to hear. A litany of _don’t say it don’t say it don’t fucking say it_ blares in his head as he turns back. Unfortunately—

“Because I would have to answer to our parents if something were to happen to you.”

—Mark’s body still seems to be controlled by someone who isn’t him.

It’s not difficult to read Donghyuck’s face. It’s also not difficult to detect the emotion in his words as he whispers, “And not because you yourself were worried about me?”

Mark hears himself say nothing.

“Of course.” 

Donghyuck’s scoff is deafeningly loud in the silence. Averting his eyes, Donghyuck grits out, “Not that you would ever be anyway.” A second later, he snaps them back up to look straight at Mark. “Would… you?”

“Would I… what?” Mark hears himself (dumbly) say.

“Care,” Donghyuck whispers. “About me.”

Broken. Donghyuck sounds so broken. And he _looks_ broken, too. 

There’s barely any light in his eyes. Donghyuck looks like he’s hanging on by a thread, his lifeline. The darkness in his eyes makes him look like a discarded toy, like Jessie from _Toy Story 2_ who had thought that Woody gave up on rescuing her from the suitcase. In that space, she only saw the colour black. There was only darkness, darkness–

Hopelessness.

Mark knows it’s all his fault. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_. Making a loved one sad isn’t something that should be done by a person who thinks he’s inherently ‘good’. He wants to make things right, wants to make the negative emotions in Donghyuck disappear. And yet, when Mark opens his mouth, the words ‘ _yes I would care_ ’ at the tip of his tongue, he says none of them. 

Why isn’t he speaking? Why can’t he say it? 

_What is wrong with me?_

Mark doesn’t know. He truly doesn’t know why he isn’t hearing himself say a single word. It really is as though he’s suddenly being controlled by someone who wants to fuck up his relationship with Donghyuck. 

“Knew it.”

And it’s gone. Gone is the thin sliver of light in Donghyuck’s eyes. There’s only darkness now. Mark never thought he’d ever be a firefighter, extinguishing fiery, blazing reds and yellows. 

Well, he’s now one. Having successfully extinguished the fire that was his fiancé, Lee Donghyuck. 

“Why did I even hope.”

And when Mark finally escapes the haunting image of Donghyuck’s blank face, all he hears is a loud slam of a door. 

 

\---

 

“What’s for breakfast today, Mark?”

“… Nothing. Donghyuck didn’t make anything for breakfast. He… isn’t well.”

“Oh. Here then, you can have half of my sandwich. It’s egg and bacon.”

“Thanks, Yukhei, but I’ll pass. I’ll get myself something from the bakery next door later. You enjoy your breakfast. Egg rolls are challenging to cook; Jungwoo must have woken up earlier to make it.”

“You sure?”

“… Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know there's no renjun in this but happy birthday anyway bub hehe may you be in wayv or another nct unit soon (yesssss i was shocked to see how he wasn't included in the group but then again this is sm we talking about here)
> 
> same as before, another chapter will be up when i've written another 5k. this was supposed to be less than 10k but then again what is short fic to jen 
> 
> i hope you've enjoyed! comments are greatly welcomed and appreciated!
> 
> twitter: soobiscuits
> 
> ps, i love jeno omg please don't think i hate him;;;;;


	3. Chapter 3

_8:02PM._

Although sprawled on his bed and in the midst of watching Yukhei’s Instagram story (of him stuffing his face with potato chips while Jungwoo sighs loudly behind the camera), Mark’s mind wanders. His eyes continuously dart upwards to the analogue clock on the wall, brows furrowing when he sees the time. 

“He’s late,” Mark mutters. “He wasn’t this late when he had that evening supplementary lesson.”

Just then, he hears the _beep_ of the passcode lock. 

The front door shuts with a _clack_ moments later and Mark quickly tosses his phone to the side before rolling off his bed and sliding over to his bedroom door. Biting down on his bottom lip, Mark turns the doorknob slowly as he attempts to open the door as quietly as he can, not wanting to alert Donghyuck of his presence.

He doesn’t need his fiancé to know that he’s _spying_ on him.

He switches off the lights in his bedroom before dropping to the floor. Mark peers through the slight gap between door and doorframe, his hands pressed firmly on the parquet flooring and on either side of his knees. The darkness conceals him, and his position enables him to get a rather clear view of the lit kitchen and of the island in the middle of it.

Where atop lies a sunflower neatly wrapped in brown paper. 

There’s a card tucked in it, too; Mark hopes Donghyuck will open that card and read his heartfelt words of apology. Although Mark had blamed his responses on the (dumb) excuse that he might have been controlled by whoever hated him, he now knows. 

He really shouldn't have allowed his fury (and jealousy) to overwhelm him that night.

The familiar shuffling sounds of Donghyuck padding around the apartment in his slippers travel to Mark’s ears, and it isn’t long later when the boy finally enters Mark’s field of vision. Donghyuck pauses in front of the kitchen, head turned towards the island. He must have spotted the bright, yellow flower.

With bated breath, Mark watches as his fiancé gently drops his bag at the entrance of the kitchen before shuffling towards the island, a hand reaching for the sunflower. Crisp sounds of the brown wrapping paper being held rustle in the silence of the apartment, but all Mark hears is the pounding of his heart and his lungs’ screams for air. He knows he’s not breathing, knows that he _needs_ to breathe. But in this situation, Mark really _can’t_ take a breath.

Not when Donghyuck’s face speaks nothing of his emotions.

To be frank, the blank look on the boy’s face terrifies Mark. As someone who wears his heart on his sleeve and whose body language clearly conveys his thoughts, feelings, and emotions, Lee Donghyuck always has been an open book for Mark to read and understand. 

Yet, what Mark doesn’t know then is that his fiancé can be a closed book, too.

Donghyuck’s indifference puts Mark on edge, and he realises that his hands have somehow made their way up to his thighs, fingers finding purchase in his sweatpants. His heart hasn’t ceased pounding, his lungs’ screams still blaring in his head. 

Fear is an emotion that Mark doesn’t feel often. Now, it’s clawing up his throat.

_What if Donghyuck doesn’t forgive me? What if he doesn’t give me a chance to explain myself? What if he throws the sunflower away and doesn’t read the card?_

_What if Donghyuck doesn’t want to marry me?_

Mark doesn’t fully register that last thought, too engulfed in the fear that’s slowly, but surely, creeping up on him. It’s only when he faintly hears a bark of laughter does he remember his current predicament.

In spite of his growing uneasiness and fear, Mark still looks forward to seeing Donghyuck’s responses to this tiny apology event-of-sorts. And the sight that greets him when his vision of the boy sharpens back to that of high-definition is simply beautiful. 

Mark’s heart hasn’t stopped pounding since Donghyuck’s entrance but now, it pounds for a different reason.

Donghyuck seems to be an open book now. With his head slightly thrown back in laughter that’s now familiar to Mark, it’s clear that the boy feels glee, feels delight, feels joy. Happiness is the emotion that can be visibly seen on his fiancé’s face. 

And it’s illegal. 

It’s illegal how beautiful Donghyuck’s happy expression is. His dazzling, ever-bright smile; his adorable two front teeth peeking through his lips; and the tinge of pink splashed across his plush, chocolate-coloured cheeks. The kitchen lights overhead beam down upon him, the (albeit ugly shade of) incandescent setting him aglow. 

_Ethereal_ , Mark thinks.

_An angel on Earth._

(Even the dust motes swirling above Donghyuck’s head contribute to Mark’s endearment of his fiancé. ~~He’s so whipped.~~ )

Still reading the card, Donghyuck’s lips part in murmurs that Mark can’t hear. It’s fine, though. Being able to see the boy cracking a smile and breaking out into laughter is good enough for Mark. While he doesn’t know if Donghyuck will forgive him, Mark is content knowing that his tiny apology event-of-sorts brought joy to his fiancé.

And with a self-satisfied smile, Mark closes the door.

( _Clack_. 

He doesn’t see how Donghyuck immediately snaps his head up, those large eyes of his darting to the closed door, glinting knowingly.)

 

\---

 

_‘Thank you for the sunflower, it’s very pretty. And for saying that I remind you of one._

_Many people have told me that I remind them of a sunflower too, but their words never meant anything to me._

_Yet, when I read your card, those words actually formed meaning for me. They resonated within me and I genuinely felt happy being likened to a sunflower. ~~Maybe because you’re the one who wrote them.~~ Maybe because the sunflower is my favourite flower._

_Anyway, thank you, Mark. Please enjoy today’s breakfast of french toast with bacon! I smeared the toast with a jam that I made. While it probably won’t taste exactly like the tangerine kaya jam from ‘Coffee Friends’, I thought it tasted quite similar. I’ll continue to improve it!_

_Sadly, I have a dumb history supplementary lesson at 8 AM so I’m going on ahead without you this morning. In the evening though… will you be coming to pick me up?_

_Have a good day at work! ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ_

_Hyuck_

_Ps, I thought you might have gotten the information of my favourite flower from my mother but when I texted her to ask, she told me that you never asked her. Huh._

_Pps, I accept your apology._

_Ppps, And I forgive you.’_

 

“You’re smiling awfully a lot today, Mark.”

“Reall–”

“It’s freaking me out.”

“I can’t help it if my face wants to show how fucking happy I am, _Yukhei_.”

“…” 

 

\---

 

“I got it when I was around twelve years old.”

At the sudden intrusion of Donghyuck’s voice, Mark tears his eyes away from the television screen to look at his fiancé. He blinks. “Huh?” 

“This small scar at my eye,” says Donghyuck, the tip of his index finger pointing at the corner of his right eye. Unlike Mark, he doesn’t look away from the television screen, his attention wholly on the movie that they’re currently watching. “Seeing Andy’s name at the bottom of Woody’s boot reminded me that I, too, have something permanent on me.” 

Although slightly surprised by the boy’s random provision of information, Mark quickly recovers to ask, “How’d you get it?”

“Can’t remember.” Donghyuck shrugs, his index still absentmindedly rubbing the scar. “The fall must have been really bad if it left a scar.”

Leaning across the space (of a foot’s length) between them, Mark squints behind his spectacles to get a clearer look. As Donghyuck has said, it’s small. Tiny, actually. If Donghyuck hadn’t mentioned it, Mark most definitely wouldn’t have caught sight of the pale-looking scar. He catches himself wondering if the scar’s raised or flat, finds his fingers itching to find out. To distract himself, Mark blurts out, “I’m just glad it left a scar and not you blind in the right eye.”

“Well,” Donghyuck starts, this time turning away from _Toy Story 2_ to look at Mark. There’s a grin on his face. “I’m also glad that frying eggs only left you with slightly burnt fingertips and not you fingerless on both hands.” 

Mark knows an insult when he hears one, and he petulantly blows a raspberry at his fiancé. He only registers that he’d done it when Donghyuck laughs, the sound reminding Mark of tinkling chimes in the wind. Seeing the boy throw his head back with his mouth open wide and those two adorable front teeth peeking through, Mark thinks he’s never heard his fiancé laugh this loud, this gleefully, this genuinely before. It’s nice. It’s endearing.

Donghyuck’s laughter continues for a couple of seconds, and while Mark is actually (and secretly) enjoying the wondrous sight before him, he still pouts and folds his arms across his chest in a mock display of anger. “Don’t you know it’s not nice to laugh at people.”

“I do,” wheezes Donghyuck as he nods his head while attempting to stop laughing. “I’m super polite I’ll have you know, but the sight of duckling band-aids on almost all your fingers is just too damn hilarious, Mark.” The sorry-looking expression on his face is _anything_ but apologetic.

“I _have_ to laugh.”

“… Shut up,” Mark grumbles, eyes immediately dropping down to look at his hands. There are at least seven duckling band-aids neatly wrapped around his fingers on both hands, courtesy of Donghyuck who had watched the entire process of Mark ~~destroying~~ frying eggs for their breakfast. “I tried my best.”

“You sure did,” seconds Donghyuck, nodding once more while _still_ trying to stop laughing. “But, please stay out of the kitchen next time, Mark. Leave all the cooking to me. Let’s not burn down our apartment, ‘kay.”

_Our apartment._

_It’s probably a slip of his tongue_ , Mark thinks as he watches Donghyuck return his attention to the television screen, arms tightening around his lion plushie that’s seated on his lap.

 _But it’s still nice to hear that._ Our _apartment._

 

(“I started using it more after graduating from high school.”

“Huh?”

Suddenly shy, Mark looks down at his fingers. “Mark. My other name.” With his right thumb and index, he pinches the fingers on his left hand. “Or my alter-ego, probably.”

“Hmm,” Donghyuck hums. He says nothing more, but a hand has moved from the lion plushie to the space on the couch between them. Donghyuck’s index starts tapping. 

Almost four months of living with Donghyuck and discovering his quirks, Mark understands that as his fiancé’s way of saying that he’s waiting. A small, fond smile forms on Mark’s face. “Minhyung,” he softly says. “My given name is Minhyung.”

Donghyuck’s index continues tapping. Mark wonders how Donghyuck would feel if he were to move that hand onto his knee. It’s been months since the first time they met but Mark wants to experience the warmth emanated by Donghyuck’s hands once more. Wants to feel the heat that he wasn’t able to consciously experience when the boy held his hand for that Instagram photo.

“I guess I wanted to start afresh in university or something, so I began using my other name,” explains Mark. “My family occasionally called me ‘Mark’ when I was younger but ‘Minhyung’ was primarily used most of the time. Even now my parents still use ‘Minhyung’.”

Donghyuck’s index stops tapping. “But, didn’t you use ‘Mark’ that one time?” 

Mark blinks, not comprehending Donghyuck’s abrupt question. Though, it seemed like he was asking himself instead of Mark. He wants to ask the boy about it but then Donghyuck is reaching for the remote control on the coffee table and pressing a button to pause the movie. 

“‘Minhyung’ does have a nice ring to it,” says Donghyuck as he turns to Mark, smiling. His eyes are twinkling. “Can I call you by that name, too?”

The lights in his fiancé’s eyes have always mesmerised Mark. If given the time, he’s sure that he’d be able to stare at them, but this time Mark finds himself unable to gaze at them for long. It’s probably got to do with the fact that he now realises that he has feelings for the boy. Mark drops his head abashedly, looks at his fingers instead. “Mm,” he mumbles. “If you want to, you can.”

“I want to.”

Donghyuck’s instant reply further flusters Mark. The side of his body that’s facing Donghyuck is slowly getting warmer, as if the bright flames in the boy’s eyes are heating him up. That side of his neck, that side of his face, that ear, that particular cheek. Are they reddening? Are they betraying the invisible storm of emotions within Mark? 

_Can Donghyuck tell that I’m so damn nervous?_

Despite all that turmoil, Mark schools himself, manages to nod. “Okay,” he breathes. Then, he lifts his head, tilts it, looks straight at Donghyuck, and cracks a crooked smile. “Call me, then.”

No amount of preparation that Mark thinks he ought to have done before agreeing will _ever_ be enough because when the smile on Donghyuck’s face blossoms _absolutely beautifully_ and he says–

“Minhyung-ah.”

–Mark realises just how deeply he has fallen for his fiancé.)

 

\---

 

“Yukhei, did you know that Donghyuck has a scar above the corner of his right eye?”

“… Did I need to know…?”

“Well, now you do.”

“O…kay. Thanks for the info?”

“You’re welcome. Also, did you know that Donghyuck has always wanted a puppy?”

“Now I do…?”

“He wants to name it ‘Coco’, isn’t that really cute?”

“I guess?”

“Also, did you know……”

 

\---

 

Change occurred.

Since the day Mark (kind of) opened up to Donghyuck and talked about his names, their relationship seemed to have changed. The changes aren’t huge though. They’re small, tiny, subtle differences that Mark would never have noticed if he hadn’t been paying attention to the minute details in his days with Donghyuck. (Or at least ever since he realised his feelings for his fiancé and started noticing every little thing about the boy.)

One, Donghyuck’s smiles seem to be bigger. Or at least the ones directed at Mark’s are; Mark doesn’t want to think about the ones that _aren’t_ received by him. Also, Donghyuck’s eyes have gotten brighter, the fires in them fiercer, and yet gentler than before. Mark loves it when he catches his fiancé in the act of gazing at him, the boy’s face painted a pretty shade of crimson in the next moment. It’s cute.

Two, Mark has been getting at least two lunchboxes every day—one for breakfast, the other for lunch (and sometimes a small one containing fruits for tea break). Mark’s certain that he’s going to gain much weight but, nope, he’s not complaining. He especially cherishes days where Donghyuck packs sandwiches for him, for his fiancé’s kaya jam is to _die for_.

Three, the space between them on the couch has decreased significantly. At first, Mark could fit his hand between his and Donghyuck’s arms. Then, the space became non-existent when they watched a thriller once and a frightened Donghyuck had launched himself into Mark’s side after experiencing a bad scare. The boy must have taken Mark’s comforting arm around his shoulder as a sign that it was alright to nestle into him, for that was what happened in all subsequent movie marathons, no matter the movie genre (yes, even Disney classics). And, nope, Mark’s not complaining.

Four, Mark finds himself talking with Donghyuck more. He engages the boy in small talk in the car, probes into the boy’s day at school while he gets asked about his day at work. The apartment is also a place where they converse more, what with Donghyuck allowing Mark in the kitchen to assist him, or when they’re marathoning movies into the wee hours of the morning (resulting in Mark having to carry a slumbering Donghyuck to his bed), or when they’re just sitting in the living room doing their respective homework and spreadsheets and Donghyuck requires Mark’s help in formulas or English. 

Also, Mark finds out that Donghyuck dislikes kelp. Which is adorably strange because Donghyuck _inhales_ laver like he breathes air. 

(Mark discovered that one Saturday evening, for Donghyuck had wrinkled his nose at Mark’s kelp soup ramyun [gifted to him by Yukhei, an avid fan of ramyun]. “Thank goodness we still had this packet of jjamppong,” Donghyuck said, voice even more nasal than usual as he was pinching his nose. He pointedly scooted away from Mark, stuck out his tongue in mischief when Mark rolled his eyes. 

They were chilling at home, marathoning movies together for the umpteenth time, and Donghyuck had been lazy to cook their dinner. “Let’s be unhealthy and have ramyun,” he had suggested while yawning [and Mark wondered if the boy was going to fall asleep _again_ during the session].

[Donghyuck did fall asleep sometime during the third movie, and Mark, used to doing the deed, deftly scooped his fiancé up into his arms and carried him to his bed.]

“Why do you dislike kelp?”

“The texture of it, I guess. I don’t really know, but the reason’s probably that.”) 

In summary, things have changed between them for the better.

Or at least until Mark receives an invitation to his high school reunion.

“Would you want to come with me?” he gingerly asks after handing the invite over to Donghyuck who had asked what he was mulling over. Chewing on his bottom lip, he nervously watches his fiancé reads the card. “Do you… want to, Donghyuck?”

“Mm, sure,” Donghyuck replies. “There’s free food and drinks, and I can hear stories of you in high school.” He looks up from the invite, a smile on his cherubic face. “What could possibly go wrong?”

Apparently, everything.

In hindsight, Mark strongly reckons things began to go downhill after he was asked this question: who’s this boy who came along with you?

To which he _actually fucking replied_ , “Uh, my neighbour whom I’m watching over tonight.”

Mark doesn’t know what the hell his dumb brain was doing when it formulated that answer. He also doesn’t know what his mouth was thinking when it parted to allow his voice through and say those hurting words. They hurt, most definitely. That much Mark knows because he doesn’t miss how Donghyuck’s expectant expression drops. He also doesn’t miss how his fiancé’s facial expression goes void of emotions when Mark doesn’t protest against getting pushed to sit next to someone. 

A someone whom Mark belatedly realises is his first (and only) ex-girlfriend.

“Hey, Mark’s neighbour? You could sit here,” says one of Mark’s classmates as he gestures to the empty chair next to him. When Donghyuck looks down at the seat (thankfully across the table from Mark) but doesn’t make a move, the classmate grabs at the boy’s wrist and tugs. “C’mon, sit down.”

The action has Mark feeling and seeing red, but he doesn’t get the chance to express his outrage, to yell at that classmate for actually _fucking daring to lay a hand on his fiancé_ for his ex-girlfriend suddenly nudges him and a shot cup appears right in front of his face.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he says. “I drove here.” The series of events has Mark annoyed, but he doesn’t let it show much even though his smile is patronising, his tone slightly sharp.

The young woman looks a little taken aback by Mark’s demeanour. “O-Oh, alright.” And she retracts her hand, bringing back the shot cup along with it. “Safety first, r-right.” 

It’s awkward when Mark doesn’t reply, but in all honesty, he really doesn’t want to carry on with the conversation. Not when there’s a shit-eating grin on that _same_ classmate. If Mark recalls correctly, this classmate of his used to be an utter gossip back in the days. That crooked smile of his can only mean one thing.

Shit is about to hit the fan. 

“Hey, remember when Mark confessed to her at the school garden, and they came back to class holding hands?”

And Mark’s gut feeling was right. For the second time in all of his twenty-six years of life, he’s never wanted to punch someone this _fucking much_. 

“I do! I also remember Mark blushing whenever she placed lunchboxes on his desk just before lunch. I used to get a piece of her delicious egg roll from him, heh.”

“You two were so cute, y’know. I bet everyone in the cohort were jealous of your relationship.”

And if Mark thought that was the end, he’s terribly wrong. 

“Hey, neighbour. Don’t you think they look good together?”

At the moment, Mark regrets bringing Donghyuck along. He very, very, _very_ much regrets doing so, for the emotionless smile that forms on Donghyuck’s face and his monotonous response to the question that he was asked (by _that_ classmate) are like sharp knives stabbing into his heart. 

“They do. I wish them all the best.”

If Mark thought that was the very end, he’s terribly wrong once again.

Someone suddenly knocks into his shoulder, and Mark can’t help but extend his arms and splay out his hands to balance himself. What he doesn’t expect is that the same move was done to the young woman next to him. In a ~~stupid~~ instinctual action of wrapping his arms around his ex to prevent her from bumping into the edge of the table, Mark ends up with her in his arms. 

It doesn’t take a genius to know that his actions are hurting Donghyuck again. 

What Mark _doesn’t_ know is that whilst he detangles himself from his ex, his fiancé would quietly slip out of his seat and leave, leaving the chair left empty as though it hadn’t been occupied to begin with. And Mark, now seated a chair away from his ex, only realises that Donghyuck’s truly gone when he doesn’t return from his supposed _gotta use the restroom_ fourteen minutes later.

The knives in his heart return as unease washes over him.

Mark jumps to his feet immediately, not in the least bit concerned with the attention garnered by the loud noise of his chair crashing onto the floor. Mark doesn’t bother to say goodbye to any of his classmates, tuning out the yelps and hollers coming from behind him as he hurtles towards the exit and onto the street. 

Of course, Donghyuck is nowhere to be seen.

Mark clutches at his heart. It hurts a lot more than he thought it would. He wonders if he’s feeling Donghyuck’s pain, too.

 

Fortunately, Mark finds him in their apartment. 

Donghyuck’s hiding in his wardrobe, which if the situation isn’t this… dire, Mark finds absolutely adorable. He’s enveloped in a long padding, zipped up and over his head. The only part of his fiancé that Mark’s able to see is his toes. It’s fucking cute, and Mark finds it extremely hard not to giggle at the sight.

Mark reaches for the tab of the zip and he slowly pulls it down, the sound of his action resounding in the silence of Donghyuck’s bedroom. Donghyuck must know. He must know that Mark’s found him and if he’s not protesting against being found, that might mean a chance for Mark to explain, to apologise for what he’s put the boy through back there. Mark’s genuinely sorry. He really is. 

The zipper finally comes free. It’s only been less than three hours but to Mark he feels as though it’s been years since he’s seen his fiancé. His eyes rests on the boy and greedily takes in how Donghyuck’s head rests on knees which he’s pulled up to his chest. A tuft of hair at the back of the boy’s head sticks up adorably. Mark resists the urge to pat it down.

He’s certain that Donghyuck knows he’s looking at him. That his fiancé can feel the soft heat emanating from his eyes, the overwhelming panic of discovering his absence storming within those _grape-like orbs_ of his (in Donghyuck’s words).

But if the boy feels what Mark thinks he does, he doesn’t say nor do anything about it. And time whiles away silently like that, with Mark looking down at Donghyuck who has his arms wrapped protectively around his bent legs. 

“H– Donghyuck.” Unable to withstand the suffocating silence any longer, Mark calls out softly. He drops to his knees, a hand reaching out, wanting to place it on Donghyuck’s shoulder when–

“Don’t touch me.”

–Donghyuck’s ever-familiar nasal, honeyed voice comes through. 

Mark’s hand stops short, fingertips just barely shy of Donghyuck’s shoulder. He knowingly retracts it, places it on his thigh and his fingers immediately curl inward, trying to find purchase in his jeans. Sadly, the fabric is unforgiving. 

And so is Donghyuck.

“Why are you here.”

Donghyuck’s voice is barely audible but Mark hears how chillingly cold it is. While it’s still nasal and honeyed, there’s absolutely no hint of the warmth that usually accompanies it. In fact, Mark doesn’t detect any emotion when Donghyuck spoke. The knives embedded in Mark’s heart pierce deeper. 

The boy finally lifts his head.

Donghyuck hadn’t switched on the lights in his bedroom but he did leave the curtains open, allowing for moonlight to stream in. The beams illuminate the space, setting everything aglow in a pretty silver. It reaches the wardrobe, and when Donghyuck finally lifts his head, Mark’s heart stops. 

He _really_ regrets bringing Donghyuck along to his high school reunion.

His fiancé’s face glistens with tear tracks, a clear indication of that he’s cried. Unlike his emotionless facial expression hours ago, Donghyuck has now allowed his fury to show itself on his face. And somehow, Mark’s glad to see it. Anything beats that blank look on the boy’s face which Mark hopes he’d never get to see again. 

That doesn’t mean that he welcomes this anger, either.

“Why are you back here.” 

It’s not a question. There’s no lilt in Donghyuck’s words, no honeyed warmth in his voice. It’s very much like the look on his face. “Shouldn’t you be… _there_.”

“I–” Mark suddenly finds himself at a loss for words. When he was driving around, desperately searching for the boy, his head swirled with many, many thoughts. There was so much he wanted to say, wanted to tell Donghyuck but now when he’s given a chance to express himself, he can’t. Tongue-tied. Mark’s fucking tongue-tied.

Donghyuck isn’t though.

“Why didn't you say it,” he says. “Why didn’t you say the truth when your friends asked who I was. Why did you say that I’m your neighbour whom you had to babysit.” Donghyuck edges his head up.

“Do I look like I _fucking need babysitting_?”

A lilt at the end. But Mark knows it’s not a question. Not when Donghyuck’s fury burns so brightly in the darkness. His eyes—those fiery orbs that Mark loves so much—light up, too, and the flames within them are so bright, so _defiant_. And Mark, for the first time, finds himself afraid of being burnt.

It’s not a good sign.

“I– No– Listen to me, Donghy–”

“Face it.” Donghyuck ruthlessly cuts Mark off. “You’re embarrassed of me. You’re embarrassed that your fiancé is so young, so naïve, so reckless. That instead of working on his homework as he should, he’s on the laptop searching for recipes to surprise your mornings with. That instead of diligently revising for tests, he’s in the kitchen trying out the recipes he’s found. That instead of sleeping, he’s staying up to marathon movies. That instead of spending his youth like youths do, he chooses to be married to the person whom he f–” 

Donghyuck abruptly goes silent, eyes blowing wide with supposed surprise. Though, a heartbeat later, he continues as if he didn’t just hesitate.

“Face it, Mark Lee,” he whispers. “You’re embarrassed of me.”

 _No_ , Mark thinks. _It’s not true._

_I will never be embarrassed of you._

A litany of _no no no_ repeats in Mark’s head. He hears his voice saying it in his ears, but it is as though he’s once again being controlled by the person who hates the relationship he has with Donghyuck for he makes no move to say it. Mark does nothing but silently watch as a sob escapes Donghyuck. And another. And another. And then the tears that have been welling up in those large eyes of his spill over. His fiancé’s bawls thoroughly push the knives in Mark’s heart through, cleanly slices it into half. 

If Donghyuck doesn’t forgive him, doesn’t want to smile at him again, Mark doesn’t know if his heart will ever be whole again.

Suddenly, Mark regains control of himself. And he quickly blurts out, “Hyuck, no. Please hear me out. _Please hear me–_ ”

“I DON’T WANT TO!” Donghyuck screams. “I’ve had enough of your hot-cold interactions with me.” He sounds tired, exhausted. “There’s only so much I can take, Mark. Or have you forgotten that I’m human too?

“That I hurt, too?”

Mark’s halved heart shatters at how utterly broken Donghyuck sounds.

“Get out,” Donghyuck grits out fiercely. He jabs his index in the direction of his bedroom door. “I don't want to see nor talk to you right now. Get out.” When Mark doesn’t respond, Donghyuck pushes him. “Mark Lee! Get out!”

“Hyuck, please–”

“OUT!” roars the boy. He brings his hands up to roughly paw at his face, swiping away the tears that have been streaming down. The hand that Mark extends forward in an attempt to do what he’s just done gets slapped away. Donghyuck tilts his head up once more, and when their eyes meet, Mark’s eyes _sear_. 

“Evidently, I’m not the person you want making your breakfasts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank hyuck and his silver hair for this because initially i wanted to post this only when i had finished writing the entire fic so, yeah, please thank the boy and his fucking hair oh lord help
> 
> as always, comments are greatly appreciated! 
> 
> twitter: soobiscuits
> 
> ps, how excited would y’all be if i wrote a pacrim markhyuck  
> pps, i already wrote 7k of the above-mentioned pacrim markhyuck so whether y’all like it (or not), it’s happening (bcs im a pacrim fan)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have good news (yay) and bad news (yikes)
> 
> good news: i've written 15k and will be uploading this chunk today and next week (yay for updates!)  
> bad news: I HAVEN'T WRITTEN THE ENDING YET (oh no)
> 
> also, please pretend that i didn't just vanish for months after leaving y'all with that cliffhanger. i even had someone asking me on twitter if i've abandoned it and the answer is nO THIS IS MY BABY (markhyuck) FIC I AIN'T GONNA LEAVE IT HANGING AND UNCOMPLETED 
> 
> now, enjoy!

In a span of two days, Mark has done things he thinks would be the things he’d regret doing the most in his entire life. 

He regrets bringing Donghyuck to that damned high school reunion. He regrets listening to Donghyuck, regrets leaving his bedroom as ordered to. Mark also regrets not doing something throughout the night to stay awake, regrets succumbing to the sleepiness that gradually flooded him through the wee hours of the morning. He even regrets not falling asleep in front of his fiancé’s door (not that it would have helped in all honesty). 

For when Mark wakes up the next morning, he can’t find Donghyuck. 

Donghyuck isn’t in his room rolling on the bed until Mark comes to wake him up. He isn’t in the bathroom waiting for Mark to come nag at him, only to end up grinning while the older (not-so-reluctantly) brushes his teeth for him. He isn’t in the kitchen, pattering about the space as he prepares their meals. Donghyuck isn’t anywhere in their apartment.

He’s gone. 

And Mark knows that his fiancé’s truly _gone_ when he opens Donghyuck’s wardrobe and sees how clothes are missing. The lion plushie that Donghyuck hugs all the time isn’t sitting on the bed. The boy’s disappearance is most telling when Mark notices how the cap that’s always been encased is nowhere to be seen. And then there’s Donghyuck’s missing shoes—the pair he usually wears to school and another pair of sneakers he dons to go out.

Donghyuck’s really gone.

It hits him later than expected. The fact that Donghyuck’s gone somewhere he doesn’t know only dawns on Mark hours later and he collapses onto the kitchen floor, hand clutching the spatula Donghyuck has claimed ownership over (since he uses that to whip up any-and-everything). His vision gradually becomes blurry as tears well up in his eyes and although he tilts his head back, rests it against the island, the tears still manage to spill forth and stream down his face. 

It also hits him harder than expected. The fact that they fought and that Donghyuck walked out of their apartment ~~and out of Mark’s life~~ hits Mark harder than he thought it would. As night falls many, many hours later, he lays on Donghyuck’s bed and draws the boy’s pillow into his arms. Mark buries his face into the softness and inhales—his fiancé’s sweet honey scent immediately fills him up. 

He cries. 

Mark cries. He sobs, _bawls_ as helplessness floods him. He feels useless, feels restless. Mark feels all of that even though he tries hard not to. Upon realising that Donghyuck’s missing, he had instantly called the boy’s phone, only to hear that it’s been switched off. Mark then spammed text messages, hoping that when Donghyuck switches his phone back on he’d see them. He hopes that his fiancé would read and know how fucking worried he is. That he’d reply to Mark’s texts with his whereabouts, his well-being, and a _I forgive you_.

Yet, deep down Mark knows. As demonstrated previously, if Donghyuck doesn’t tell Mark his whereabouts, Mark wouldn’t know. He would _never_ know. 

(Mark didn’t call his in-laws this time because even though there may be a tiny possibility that Donghyuck could have returned to his parents’ place, he’s certain that the boy didn’t.

Having lived with Donghyuck for almost half a year, Mark has realised that his fiancé is someone who doesn’t like to trouble nor unnecessarily worry people. And Donghyuck has once offhandedly mentioned that although he’s extremely close to his parents, there are some things that he would not tell them.

_“I don’t want them to worry about me. Not when they already have so many things on their plates. If I can solve my problems on my own, there’s no need to tell them. This is how I show I love them.”_

Mark only falls deeper for his fiancé after that.)

So, there is nothing Mark can do at the moment. He can only wait to see if Donghyuck will return in the morning. He can only hope that Donghyuck _will_ return and be benevolent enough to give Mark a chance to seek his forgiveness. Mark isn’t proud of what he’s done—one shouldn’t be causing his loved one this much pain, this much suffering. It isn’t right, it shouldn’t be happening. 

It should _never_ happen again.

Clasping his hands together, Mark sincerely prays for his fiancé’s safety. That no matter where Donghyuck is, he is safe and sound. That he’s happier, and not as distraught or sad as he had been last night.

Mark hugs Donghyuck’s pillow tighter, breathes in deeper. He smiles, albeit wistfully, at the sweet scent. And even as Mark gradually drifts off to sleep, succumbing to the exhaustion of worrying about his fiancé, the smile on his face doesn’t wane, doesn’t fade away from his face. If anything, it grows fond, and fonder.

For Mark dreams of Donghyuck, and in his dream Donghyuck is smiling back at him, too.

 

\---

 

“You got to do something to bring Donghyuck back, Mark.”

“I know. I’m… working on it.”

“Great, because while I may not have met your fiancé before, I think I already know a lot about him from how you’ve been yakking on and on about him. And hearing you talk about him all the time makes me certain that he’s waiting for you to go get him back.”

“… How do you know that?”

“I don’t, of course. I’m not him, so how would I know?”

“I’ll take your… positivity anyway. Thanks, Yukhei.”

“No problem man. If it’s as you said, that Donghyuck is tired of your hot-cold interactions, then, from now on, you gotta be hot, hot, _fucking hot_ all the way.”

 

\---

 

Just because Donghyuck isn’t replying to the texts doesn’t mean that Mark doesn’t know where he might be. 

For since Donghyuck’s school shoes are missing from the shoe cupboard, it can only mean that, despite this bad spat, the boy still plans on attending school. That he _will_ be going to school. (Besides, there aren’t any school holidays coming up.) 

And that is what Mark is banking on as he waits a short distance away from the front gates of Donghyuck’s school with an armful of sunflowers neatly wrapped in brown paper. Having previously read in _the_ letter written by the boy himself that his favourite flower is a sunflower, Mark knew he ought to get them. An apology wouldn’t be complete without flowers. An apology to Donghyuck wouldn’t be sincere without sunflowers.

Thus, Mark tolerates. 

If it was the old Mark, one would _never_ catch him outside with flowers in his hands. He doesn’t look it but Mark’s really, really, _really_ embarrassed, no thanks to the stares and looks that he’s been garnering due to the bright yellows in his arms.

Yet, Mark stays put. He doesn’t let his fear and embarrassment overwhelm him and make him do dumb things like running away. And, somehow, it’s easy to do so, to stay and wait—all Mark has to think of is the image of Donghyuck puttering around their kitchen, bouncing lightly on his feet while humming a little tune. 

_Just like old times_ , Mark thinks, smiling a little at that adorable image. _I just want things to go back to how they were._

_I just want my Donghyuck back._

And so, with his eyes on the ~~prize~~ gates, Mark waits. He leans his back against his car and places both feet firmly on the pavement before tilting his head upwards. Mark looks up at the sky, takes in the endless azure and the fluffy whites. It’s a pretty sight. He then lets his eyes follow the red-yellow rays until they meet with the sun. As with everyone else, Mark can’t look at the large orb head-on. It’s too bright, too painful to do so. Mark quickly drops his gaze, darts his eyes to the yellows in his arms. Wistfulness suddenly washes over him. The sun reminds Mark of a certain someone, makes him miss him. 

It’s only been two days, but Mark feels as though Donghyuck has been gone for much longer than that, for all eternity if he wants to exaggerate. He misses him. Mark dearly misses Donghyuck. 

A gentle breeze blows past then, ruffling Mark’s hair. The brown wrapping paper rustles, the sound pleasing to the ear. The sunflowers bristle, their petals tickling Mark’s chin.

A bell rings shrilly in the distance. 

And eight minutes later, Donghyuck appears. 

It should have been hard. Common sense would say that it’s challenging to be able to pick a person out from amongst a sea of people wearing the exact same colours and donning similar shades of hair. 

Yet, Mark spots Donghyuck instantly. 

And it seems that Donghyuck has spotted Mark, too.

The boy halts in his track, stumbling forward a little when someone bumps into him from behind. An arm immediately shoots out in front of him, extending across the expanse of his chest and the hand wraps itself around Donghyuck’s upper arm. 

If it was the old Mark, he would have seen red at the action. He would have stomped up to the pair, yank the arm off of Donghyuck and pull the boy into his arms. Mark would then glare at the perpetrator—it’s that same classmate of Donghyuck’s _again_ , Lee Jeno—before turning around to walk back to the car. And all that would be fuelled by the jealousy bubbling within him, rearing its ugly head like an uncontrolled bull.

Mark doesn’t do all that, of course. This is a new Mark (probably), and he’s learnt his lesson. He’s realised that those series of actions aren’t befitting of someone his age and of the maturity level he’s supposed to possess. Mark does feel a tad of jealousy seeping into him, though. It’s an emotion that he has resigned himself to inevitably feel for as long as Donghyuck is in his life. 

For as long as he loves Donghyuck.

Despite his almost-fall, Donghyuck doesn’t look away from Mark. 

Their eyes meet in an exchange of fire and lightning. Donghyuck’s eyes are still their fiery selves, flames burning intensely within. Mark wants to smile at that; his fiancé seems to be alright, even if his eyes are burning brighter than usual. ( _Vengeance_ , Mark’s mind unhelpfully supplies. _He looks like he’s going to take revenge for what you’ve done to him_.) Mark’s own pair of eyes are bright, too. He feels as though lightning is running through them, emitting sparks of light and energy. Mark feels all of his determination concentrating in his eyes, in the gaze he’s transfixed on Donghyuck. He hopes the boy can hear what he wants him to hear and to know.

_I’m here to apologise. I’m here to get you back._

_I’m here to bring you home._

_Please, come home._

“D–” Mark opens his mouth, about to call out to his fiancé, only to see Donghyuck breaking their eye contact as he suddenly pivots on the spot and walks away. In the opposite direction of where Mark is. Donghyuck doesn’t turn back.

In the midst of feeling disappointment washing over him, Mark doesn’t know why but his eyes find their way to Jeno’s. And, to his surprise, Jeno is looking at him, too. There’s a moment of eye contact, a second of charged tension, before the boy breaks into a smile and his eyes can no longer be seen. Then, Mark is greeted with Jeno’s back as he chases after Donghyuck.

The dismay of being ignored by Donghyuck drowns the fury and jealousy that Mark would have felt upon watching Jeno swing an arm over Donghyuck’s shoulders.

 

\---

 

As Yukhei has said, Mark (or his methods of getting Donghyuck back, actually) has to be _hot, hot, fucking hot all the way_ from now on.

Despite being blatantly rejected by Donghyuck that day, Mark doesn’t give up. He returns to his fiancé’s school the next evening and waits by his car with another armful of bright, yellow sunflowers. The amount of attention he attracts remains the same, if not more and with confusion because Mark’s certain the school’s security guard must be thinking _why is this guy back again?_ Strangely, though, Mark doesn’t feel as embarrassed he had been the previous time. It’s an improvement.

There is, however, no improvement in Donghyuck’s reaction to his actions. 

As Mark watches his fiancé walk away from him for a second time, he doesn’t feel (that) disappointed. Dismay doesn’t wash over him as quickly, doesn’t take hold of him completely. Instead, as Mark watches Donghyuck take step after step in the opposite direction of where he’s at, he’s gradually filled with more and more determination to continue with what he’s doing. Donghyuck’s ignoration only fuels Mark’s resolve to apologise to his fiancé, to show how remorseful he is, and to let Donghyuck know how much he wants him back.

 _Needs_ him back.

And Mark’s resolution shows in how he doesn’t give up even after experiencing the same form of rejection from Donghyuck for the third and fourth time. For he shows up at Donghyuck’s school for the fifth consecutive evening. 

(Mark doesn’t know if being nicknamed _the handsome sunflower guy_ by the elderly security guard [who now recognises him and smiles in greeting] is a good thing. Well, at least he doesn’t get chased away or banned from waiting in the vicinity. It’s probably the sunflowers that made him look less like a suspicious person. Everyone loves sunflowers, they’re so pretty.)

Although Mark doesn’t dare to expect that this time will be any different from the past four days, there _is_ an inkling of hope glowing within him, and Mark sincerely prays for a change, an opportunity. It doesn’t have to be huge, doesn’t have to be big. A minor one, a _tiny_ change from those previous times. Mark just needs a window of opportunity. That is all he asks for. 

His prayers are answered. 

Things go as they had for the past four days: Donghyuck walks through the gates about eight minutes after the bell rings; he looks up and sees Mark; he halts in his track and stumbles forward a little when someone bumps into him from behind. Until then, things go like clockwork.

It is after _this_ does Mark notice that something is different.

Where there should be an arm shooting out in front of Donghyuck’s chest to prevent him from falling forward, there is none. And without support, Donghyuck effectively falls to the ground, clothed (thankfully) knees landing on the pavement. A _thump_ resounds in Mark’s head, but it’s hastily replaced with a thoughtful _huh_ when Mark finally registers the difference. 

Donghyuck doesn’t have Jeno with him today. 

It’s a sign. This is the tiny change that he’s been praying for. This is surely the opportunity that he’s been given, a precious gift from whoever is taking pity on him up there. Mark knows what he has to do, knows what is at stake. He doesn’t want to think about what he will painfully lose if he doesn’t succeed this time.

At the gates, Donghyuck is still seated on the ground. He doesn’t move, doesn’t get up even though he’s being jostled by the seemingly endless waves of students trying to exit the school. Mark doesn’t know why his fiancé isn’t making a move to get out of harm’s way, but he attributes it to the opportunity he’s being given. Someone’s keeping Donghyuck there, seemingly making him wait for Mark to reach him. 

And reach Donghyuck Mark does. 

With each bump that sends his fiancé nearer to the ground, Mark’s heart throbs and aches, and he doesn’t realise that he’s left the side of his car, having unconsciously been taking step after step towards the boy. A particularly hard bump from behind abruptly sends Donghyuck keeling forward. Mark runs.

Donghyuck doesn’t fall forward for a second time. 

“Got you.”

Mark slides in front of Donghyuck in time. He feels the rough concrete abrading his jeans, feels sharp pain at the spots where pebbles are digging into his flesh. Yet, Mark doesn’t have the time nor ability to acknowledge all of that when all he’s thinking about is if he’s prevented Donghyuck from falling. If Donghyuck is safe from harm. 

He is. 

Mark stopped his fiancé from meeting the ground by supporting the boy with his body, chest to chest. He has an arm around the boy, hand gripping onto Donghyuck’s upper arm, fingers applying strong yet gentle pressure on clothed flesh. The bottom of his chin grazes the fabric of Donghyuck’s uniform top, and Donghyuck’s sideburn tickles Mark’s cheek. Mark subconsciously inhales—the familiar scent of honey sweetens his senses. 

The person within Mark’s embrace suddenly moves. It’s then does Mark hear the rustle of the brown wrapping paper crumpling between their chests and feel the stalks of the sunflowers bending. Something dawns on him. The bouquet, he’s still cradling it. The precious yellows that Mark bought are currently squashed between Donghyuck and him. 

Mark gulps. He hopes Donghyuck doesn’t mind squashed versions of his favourite flower.

Donghyuck, on the contrary, doesn’t seem to be on the same page as that of his fiancé. He continues to squirm, hands pushing at Mark’s shoulders, shoulder wriggling in a struggle to be free of Mark’s hand. Grunts of effort can be clearly heard now that the gates are no longer bustling with students exiting the school. The security guard could still be around though, looking on at this strange and suspicious scene of a boy trying to break free of a young man’s embrace. Mark can only wish that the elderly man wouldn’t call the police on him.

With each push of Donghyuck’s hands at his shoulders and whimpers of protest emitted by the boy, panic trickles into Mark until it forms a steady stream and flows throughout his body, replacing the confidence that he had moments before. “Donghyuck,” begs Mark. He tightens his grip on his fiancé’s shoulder but is still careful so as not to hurt him. “Please, Hyuck, please.

“ _Please_ hear me out.”

It is as though Mark’s words contain fairy dust, for Donghyuck stops moving in the next second and relief floods Mark. He softly sighs, releasing the hold he has on the boy’s shoulder to slide his hand down to Donghyuck’s waist instead. The corners of Mark’s lips twitch in delight when Donghyuck doesn’t react adversely (or at all) when Mark gently curls his fingers around the boy’s side.

Donghyuck lays unmoving, limp in his arms and Mark can’t help but smile as he basks in the familiar warmth and drinks in the sweet honey scent of his adorable bear of a fiancé. Certain that Donghyuck would listen to his explanation, Mark relaxes, and is about to place his chin on the boy’s shoulder when he suddenly finds himself being pushed backwards.

Although shocked, Mark somehow manages to fixate his gaze on the person who’s briskly walking away from him. Donghyuck’s back is all Mark sees for a couple of seconds before he drops his head and breaks the gaze. “Even at this point of time, he’s still him.” Mark smiles fondly and shakes his head in both awe and disbelief. “Made me relax only to take me off-guard in the next moment.”

 _How cute_ , thinks Mark as he redirects his eyes back to his fiancé’s back view. The smile on his face doesn’t wane even as he gets up and hurries after Donghyuck. Since Jeno isn’t with him today, Mark shall take the chance to be the one to accompany Donghyuck to wherever he’s going. While he may not be allowed to walk alongside his fiancé, Mark’s content to be able to look at Donghyuck from behind.

And even as the time Donghyuck takes to arrive at his destination—an apartment block which Mark doesn’t recognise but highly reckons is home to someone his fiancé knows—is only a short ten minutes, Mark is satisfied.

 

\---

 

A grumpy Mark is in the midst of chewing a spoonful of his dinner—jjajangmyeon and tangsuyook from Donghyuck’s favourite Chinese joint—when his phone screen suddenly lights up. 

It’s a notification from Instagram. 

There’s a new post by Donghyuck. 

Mark has never tapped on a notification so quickly. His brows furrow as he growls under his breath when the phone requires his fingerprint to be unlocked, and he impatiently hums like a thrumming engine as the page loads. 

Seconds later, on the screen appears a photograph of Donghyuck in a crisp, white dress shirt and a pair of black bottoms with an apron wrapped around his hips. There’s a lopsided, tiny bow at his collar. The boy has a hand up, fingers in a ‘V’. On his nose rests a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and the smile on his face is so, so bright, and so, so good-looking. Mark doesn’t know it, but there’s a smile on his face as well.

As embarrassing as it sounds, Mark _has_ watched enough anime to recognise what kind of outfit the photograph showed. “A… waiter’s uniform?” he questioningly mutters as he taps on the post to reveal the entire caption. “Why would Hyuck be wearing–” Mark’s eyes quickly read through the short paragraph, only to widen in realisation. 

“A... school festival?”

And Mark immediately whirls around, eyes darting to the flyer that he’s placed on the coffee table in the living room. A flyer he found on the kitchen island, placed under the lion cup Donghyuck uses, when he returned home in the evening. Mark gets off his chair and walks over. He picks the flyer up. 

“Is this why you weren’t there just now when I went to wait for you,” Mark murmurs as he reads the flyer, taking in the extravagant design and the words stating the various activities, programmes, and stores the school festival has to offer. “You were busy preparing for the festival.” 

A frown suddenly graces his face. “Why do you have to be a waiter, though.”

Although a little upset at Donghyuck’s choice of outfit ( _“Because everyone can see how handsome he looks, humph.”_ ), Mark knows that setting up a café is both a popular, profitable, and wise decision. He remembers the one (and only) festival that took place during his years in high school. He remembers being a waiter himself, donning a similar white-coloured dress shirt paired with black bottoms and an apron. The only difference was that Mark had on suspenders and that his own pair of spectacles was black.

He also remembers participating in the festival’s talent show. Remembers being dragged to the stage by his then circle of friends. Remembers his arms being shoved into a leather jacket at the foot of the stairs leading to the stage before he reluctantly trudged up when his name was called. It’s a blurred image in his mind now, but Mark vaguely recalls being greeted by a sea of darkness and his reluctance instantly transformed to that of sheer anxiousness.

Although not born to musically-inclined parents (his parents _truly_ have no affinity for music), Mark’s childhood home was still filled with shelves of CDs, of records, and memorabilia collected by his mom and dad. It’s (still) a wonder to Mark how his mother, who enjoys ballads, married his metal-loving father. 

As such, Mark has been exposed to music since he was a wee lad. He’d listen to his parents’ music collection while exploring other genres on his own. It didn’t come as a surprise to his parents when Mark expressed interest in wanting to attend vocal lessons. 

Those lessons, however, hadn’t saved Mark from screwing up the stage. He rapped a little something he had written in his last year of high school, a couple of paragraphs that he had somewhat practiced (in his head). Thankfully, the audience were kind enough not to have booed him. 

Yet, that failure only sparked Mark’s interest in performing, in rapping. He liked the adrenaline he felt while on stage, the rush of blood in his ears as he let the words spill from his lips. Mark hadn’t heard any cheers whilst performing, but the scatters of soft applause when his performance ended were enough to encourage him, to show him that, perhaps, he had potential. 

(Mark can’t recall very clearly, but he thought he had heard a rather loud shrill of _you were awesome!_ when he was going down the stairs.)

Although Mark remembers his university years of studying, of writing those headache-inducing essays, of inhaling coffee as though his life depended on it, and of gate-crashing one too many parties with Yukhei, he also remembers the numerous stages he had bravely stepped onto to show ~~the world~~ how much he loved performing and rapping.

Those days were nice. Mark misses them. Sometimes.

“I guess this will be my second high school festival.” Mark smiles as he thoughtfully thumbs the word ‘CAFÉ’. From where it’s left on the coffee table, Mark’s phone suddenly pings with a new notification. Yukhei has commented on Donghyuck’s post.

_CANT WAIT TO MEET THIS CUTE WAITER (with Jungwoo, of course)_

Mark chuckles, shaking his head. “Yukhei, how does Jungwoo tolerate you,” he says just as a banner appears at the top of the screen. Mark taps on it.

_and mark. MARK WILL BE WITH ME. IM BRINGING MARK TO YA HYUCK DON’T WORRY YOUR PRETTY HEAD SWEETIE_

Mark immediately frowns. “Sweetie? Who are you calling, Wong Yukhei, and I don’t need _you_ to take me there, doofus. I can go there on my o–”

Another banner.

 _!!! okay! i can’t wait to see y’all! bring lots of cash to spend!!_

Mark’s breath lodges in his throat when he sees Donghyuck’s reply. There’s no objection to him tagging along with Yukhei and Jungwoo. In fact, Donghyuck even said _okay_ (with an exclamation mark to boot). Mark can only hope that his fiancé means it. That Donghyuck _truly_ can’t wait to see him (and Yukhei and Jungwoo).

“I won’t let you down, Hyuck.” Mark gazes at Donghyuck’s post, eyes fondly transfixed on the boy’s grinning face. 

_Thanks for coming back to deliver the flyer. Thanks for giving me this chance._

“I’m coming to get you, love.”

 

\---

 

“So…”

“If you’re going to ask if I’m going to Hyuck’s school festival, the answer is ‘yes’.”

“Well, I _was_ going to ask that, but I also wanted to know if you have a plan. To, y’know, bring him back.”

“I… kinda do? It’s not foolproof, but I’m gonna give it a shot. I’ve got nothing to lose at this point.”

“Pride be damned, huh.”

“Yeah, what’s that to me if I don’t have Hyuck?”

 

\---

 

It’s been eight years since Mark has stepped foot in the compound, but he feels as though he’s never left.

Although he’s been fetching Donghyuck to and fro school, not once has Mark entered the high school. The iron gates have been changed, probably due to wear and tear and rust, but the field, the track, and generally every other structure didn’t seem to have changed much. As Mark enters the building that houses the classrooms and weaves through the crowds that have thronged the festival, he sees how the shoe lockers, the stairs, and the classrooms are still where they were when he was a student. 

(Mark pauses briefly in front of the shoe lockers, unaware that a silly smile has formed on his face as a memory of him sliding straight into the lockers due to his slippery shoes surfaces in his head. He banged his forehead real hard on the metal lockers and had garnered several low snickers and giggles. Needless to say, it was a Bad Morning.)

Still, nervousness washes over Mark as he smiles and bows in gratitude to a student after having asked where the stalls of the Year 3 students reside. And as he traipses up the flights of stairs, Mark absentmindedly fiddles with an object that he’d slid on his hand on the evening Donghyuck uploaded that Instagram post.

At the foot of the last flight of stairs that lead to the floor where the Year 3 classrooms are located, Mark looks down at his hand. His _left_ hand. 

Or more specifically, his _left ring finger_.

Under the incandescent lighting of the stairwell, Mark’s half of his and Donghyuck’s wedding bands glints prettily, and if Mark wants to exaggerate, it seems to be glinting _knowingly_ —as though it knows that it’s about to meet with its other half (that’s hopefully still hanging around Donghyuck’s neck).

Exhaling lightly, Mark brings his hand up to his lips and presses a feather-light kiss to the ring. “Give me strength,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut for a second before flying open when a yell suddenly shatters the din of the festival.

It’s a boy that Mark doesn’t recognise, but what catches Mark’s attention is that the male student is dressed in the same outfit as Donghyuck. (His fiancé wore it better though, honestly.)

“I’m going to get us some loose change!” the student yells as he wildly waves an arm in the air. He seems to be conversing with someone down the corridor, with someone that Mark cannot see. “Get Hyuck out of the toilet and make him wait on the tables until I get back!” 

Hyuck.

Donghyuck.

It’s instant. The moment Mark hears his fiancé’s name, elation washes over him and surges through his body. It’s unadulterated, the happiness that Mark feels with all of his mind, body, heart, and _soul_. It’s an effect that Mark discovers only Donghyuck has on him. An effect that Mark would _never_ want to stop having. 

(And, frankly, he looks forward to feeling it, that sensation of absolute delight, for the rest of his life. The life that he’s going to spend with Donghyuck.)

With brightly-lit eyes, Mark quickly dashes up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. He can’t wait. Mark can’t wait to finally lay his eyes on the person who has been appearing in his dreams every night, blessing him with that beautiful, dazzling smile. Mark misses the energy that the boy radiates, misses the warmth that he emanates. He misses being Donghyuck’s sunflower. 

Mark dearly misses his sun.

At the top of the stairs, Mark turns away from where the male student had run off to, directing his attention to the other part of the corridor instead. As with every other floor where classrooms reside, it’s no surprise that the corridor is packed. Mark surveys the space, eyes darting to the stall labels of each classroom. It doesn’t take him long to spot the one that states ‘CAFÉ’.

Just as Mark had reckoned, opening a café was indeed a wise decision. Although other graduating classes have people queuing, the line at Donghyuck’s classroom is _snaking_ , and Mark sighs when he gets to the end of the line. He is _so_ far from the front of the line. 

Yet, at the thought of _finally_ seeing Donghyuck, delight defines Mark’s facial features and he smiles a small one. He brings his left hand up and gazes at the silver band. It boasts a simple design but Mark likes it. Donghyuck really chose a pretty one. (Don’t tell the boy but, yeah, Mark knows. His fiancé, when sleeping, can’t quite keep a secret. [Which, to Mark, is cute and _part of his charm_.])

It takes a while, but Mark finally finds himself almost at the front of the line. All that stands between him and Donghyuck is a group of chattering girls. He tunes out their voices to focus on the door of the classroom, eyes taking in the corgi-printed curtain. Mark wonders if his fiancé had a part in hanging that—Donghyuck has, one too many times, _offhandedly_ mentioned just how much he adores corgis. Just then, the curtain parts and someone comes out to bring the group of girls into the classroom. Although it’s been a while, Mark still recognises the _someone_. 

“Jeno,” greets Mark when the boy emerges through the curtain again. “Hey.”

It takes him a couple of seconds, but Jeno’s surprise fades away, and when the boy registers who called out to him, he breaks into one of his eye-smiles. Mark pretends not to have heard the gasps and fond sighs erupting behind him. 

“Mark, right?” Jeno tilts his head to a side. “You’re Hyuck’s… Well. Anyway, hey.” And he extends a hand into the space between him and Mark. 

Mark eyes it. He can’t help but be wary since the last time he shook hands with Jeno, the boy had gripped his hand _so_ tightly. Mark could never forget how jealous he was that night, how out of line his behaviour towards both Donghyuck and Jeno had been. He greatly regrets what he did and has since then tried to tame the creature that he hadn’t known exists within him.

And Mark must have succeeded in his training, for the unpleasant sensation that would usually accompany the appearance of the ugly creature in his chest never comes. There’s no surge of jealousy, no sour taste erupting within his mouth, no heart-wrenching ache blooming within his chest. 

Success. Mark has succeeded in no longer feeling anything negative towards Jeno. He smiles then, genuine and sincere, as he grabs Jeno’s hand and shakes it. “Yeah, it’s Mark. Long-time no see.” 

It is as though Jeno can feel Mark’s sincerity, for the smile on his face widens. “Long-time no see indeed,” Jeno replies, retracting his hand when Mark lets go. “I suppose Hyuck invited you?” 

Mark’s about to nod when a thought shoots into his head and he stops. Frankly, Mark doesn’t know if he _was_ invited by Donghyuck because until now he’s not sure who actually placed the flyer in the apartment. And while all clues point to his fiancé (only the two of them know the passcode to their apartment), Mark doesn’t want to expect. Doesn’t want to have his hopes up only to come out scathed, hurt, and disappointed. Nonetheless, he nods. 

If Jeno notices how uncertain Mark looks, he doesn’t let it show. He just continues smiling that eye-smile of his as he asks, “Great! How many people I would have to sit, Mark?”

At the question, Mark immediately thinks of the text that Jungwoo had sent him in the morning, apologising that both he and Yukhei would be unable to accompany him to Donghyuck’s school festival. His father had suddenly fallen ill, causing them to have to rush down to Jeonju to see how he is. Mark had replied with a _no worries_ , and that he would want updates of how Uncle Kim is faring. Jungwoo’s _thanks Mark_ and Yukhei’s subsequent _go get him tiger!!_ brought a grin to Mark’s face. His friends’ words somehow gave him more strength and courage to carry out his plan.

“Sadly, there’s only me,” says Mark as he gives Jeno an apologetic smile. “Two friends of mine were supposed to come as well, but something cropped up so they can’t make it.” 

A knowing look forms on Jeno’s face. He nods and places a hand on Mark’s shoulder, pats it lightly. “It’s alright. At least you’re here.” The boy then smiles that eye-smile of his again. Though, this time, Mark senses that there’s something… off about this smile. 

He’s right. For the boyish eye-smile morphs into that of a devilish grin in the next second, and Jeno edges his face close to Mark’s. (Mark pretends not to have heard the sudden outbursts of squeals and gasps and muffled chatter coming from behind him.) 

Dammit, though. Mark doesn’t want to admit it but Jeno is _seriously_ one good-looking dude. (Don’t tell him Mark thought that.)

“I’ll let you in on a secret.” For some reason that hasn’t caught up to Mark’s lagging brain, Jeno is whispering. “Don’t tell Hyuck I said this but that dumb best friend of mine has been looking at the door since the café opened for business.” Jeno then moves his lips near to Mark’s ear. 

“I’m pretty sure he’s waiting for you.”

Mark’s breath hitches.

_Donghyuck… He– He’s–_

“W-Waiting for me?” Mark croaks. The information seems to be a little too overwhelming for him, for Mark feels as though his brain is not just lagging, it’s beginning to short-circuit as well. Words aren’t forming coherently in his mind. “H– Hyuck– Me– W-Waiting? _Huh!?_ ”

If Jeno finds Mark’s incoherence funny, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he nods sagely. “Since he ran away from your apartment, he’s been freeloading at mine and, _god_ , you don’t wanna know how much he yaks about you every single day.” The boy brings up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as he sighs (rather loudly). “And it only got worse after you began to wait for him after school. I swear, there is only _so much_ I can take about how”—Jeno air-quotes with his fingers—“‘breath-takingly handsome Mark Lee the asshole is with sunflowers in his arms’.”

By then, Mark is grinning from ear to ear. (Also, Jeno is unexpectedly dramatic. Mark can see why he’s Donghyuck’s best friend.)

“So, please, Mark, take Hyuck home today,” says Jeno. It’s not hard to see the plea that’s spilling out of the boy’s widening eyes. “ _Please_ , for the sake of your husband’s best friend, appease him and bring him home _today_.”

 

In spite of the determined nod he gave and words of assurance— _I’ll make sure that Hyuck doesn’t freeload anymore from tonight onwards_ —he told Jeno, Mark’s confidence betrays him and, _strongly_ against his will, slowly seeps out of him. There’s not a lot of it left when Jeno emerges from the curtain minutes later to inform Mark that he may enter. There are only dregs left in him as Mark musters up a small smile and follows after Jeno. He raises a hand to part the curtain, eyes briefly resting on the canine printed on it. The corgi on the fabric may be smiling cutely, but its portrayed happiness does nothing to quell Mark’s nervousness. 

Nervous. Anxious. Inexplicably worried. And Mark would come up with more synonyms of all those terms if his mind isn’t wholly occupied by the fact that he’s currently being looked at by his fiancé. Well, Donghyuck isn’t looking at _him_ per se. His eyes are seemingly looking at the one-page menu in Mark’s hands when Mark is reading it, then at something that’s behind Mark when Mark is relaying his order to him. Even when he’s taken Mark’s order and is collecting the menu from him, Donghyuck still _doesn’t_ look at his fiancé once. Heck, his smile isn’t even directed at Mark, but at the table he’s seated at.

Mark doesn’t mind, though. He doesn’t mind _at all_. It has been far too long since Mark has been in the same space as his fiancé, since he’s breathed the same air as the boy, and since he’s had the fortune to be looking at the same things as his sun. Yet, even as contentment washes over Mark and causes a dumb, silly smile to form on his face, there’s something… missing. Mark still feels a gaping hole in his heart. 

In the days where Donghyuck wasn’t with him, Mark had felt empty, as though he would never be complete. And now, even while he’s gazing at Donghyuck, chin propped up by a hand, that fond smile etched on his face, Mark _still_ feels that emptiness within him. He’s sure that it can only disappear, that the hole in his heart can only be filled when he apologises, when his fiancé returns home with him.

When Donghyuck finally _smiles_ at him.

Donghyuck, however, doesn’t give Mark _any_ chance to do so. It is as though he’s learned his lesson; Donghyuck vehemently avoids Jeno whenever the latter comes close to him, dodges his best friend’s hands whenever they are within range. It is evident on his face that he is afraid of being thrown to ~~the sharks~~ Mark once more. 

(Which was what happened the moment Mark entered the classroom—Jeno had all but suddenly dragged Donghyuck away from the table of girls he was waiting to take orders from and forced him to take orders from Mark instead.

[In hindsight, Mark wonders why Donghyuck couldn’t have run away the instant Jeno was called to take orders for another table. He’s pretty sure the boy’s feet weren’t glued to the parquet flooring nor chained to his table.])

It’s about thirty minutes later does Mark see a sort of a chance. 

Donghyuck, who also has been avoiding Mark and his table like plague, is in a pinch. The boy seems to have attracted the (unwanted) attention of a group of boys, unwillingly becoming the sole recipient of catcalls and whistles in low baritones. One moment Donghyuck’s placing a plate of penne bolognese on the boys’ table, the next moment his wrist is being gripped by one of the boys.

Having kept his gaze on his fiancé, Mark sees red _instantly_.

He doesn’t go up to confront the boy, though. Mark watches as Jeno and a couple of Donghyuck’s male classmates go up to the table, only for his gaze to harden and jaw to tighten when Jeno and his classmates get roughly pushed to the floor. Things don’t look favorable. The group of boys is leering down at Jeno and his classmates, whose faces are so, so dark. Mark’s sure that a fight would have broken out if not a sudden loud cry of pain. 

Donghyuck.

A glance at the boy and his contorted expression of extreme discomfort and the lack of fire, of fight, of something that’s _Donghyuck_ in those eyes of his as he attempts to wrench his hand out of the boy’s grip is all it took for Mark’s fury to _shoot through the roof_.

_No one, no fucking one hurts my Hyuck._

Mark abruptly stands, not in the fucking least caring about the ear-splitting screech of chair legs against parquet or the thunderous crash of the back of the chair onto parquet. He doesn’t care about the amount of attention he’s garnering, doesn’t bother with the whispers that sound like static in his ears, doesn’t mind the numerous pairs of eyes that are following him as he stomps over to the table. Mark doesn’t want to fucking care about anything else right now. He only wants to focus his attention on the _only_ thing, the only _person_ in his head right now. 

Lee Donghyuck. His fiancé, his future husband, his _love_.

“Get your filthy hand off of him right now.”

The fury that’s raging (almost uncontrollably) within him causes Mark’s voice to be lower, deeper, and darker than usual. It also causes his vision to be a split-screen of red and black, the quality absolutely shitty, with erratic glitching and bad static. Mark’s body trembles, convulsing with anger that’s rolling off of him in large, large waves. He wants them to burn, to drown the fuckers that are causing his Donghyuck to have tears rolling down his pretty cheeks.

Scoffs come from the boys, with the loudest one emitted by the one who’s clutching Donghyuck. That lowlife stands, too, only for the ugly sneer on his face to momentarily falter when he realises that Mark (and Donghyuck, actually) is taller than he is. The smirk that he hastily slaps on his face is less confident, less intimidating. In his mind, Mark rolls his eyes. He doesn’t know why the fucker even tries.

“I’m going to count to three,” says Mark, tone seemingly emotionless but everyone who has their eyes on him can tell that he is feeling anything _but_ nothing. His eyes, already large and round, appear even more so with his fury storming within them. If glares could kill, the lowlife would already have been dead thousand times over. “And you’re going to release his wrist if not I will–”

“What? What are you going to do, _old man_? Call the cops?” The idiot interrupts, smirk widening and a guffaw slips out of him when Mark falls silent. “I’m so scared! I’m going to jail! Whatever shall I d–”

“I don’t have fucking time to waste on you.” Mark’s mutter is soft, yet also strangely loud enough for the persons near him to hear, and it doesn’t come as a huge surprise when Mark hears Donghyuck snickering under his breath. He doesn’t have time to pay more attention to the adorable sound though, for the lowlife is opening his mouth, seemingly about to break into, probably, a spiel of curse words.

Mark brings his hand up immediately. His _left_ hand, to be specific.

And, on his ring finger, his half of his and Donghyuck’s wedding bands sparkle brightly, proudly, _triumphantly_ under the fluorescent lighting of the classroom.

“Look,” Mark deadpans as he stares straight into the fucker’s, suppressing the urge to smirk when he sees the moron flinching. “We’re married.” Mark edges his hand closer to the idiot’s face, wiggles his ring finger slightly. “He’s mine, I’m his, we’re husbands.” He then turns to look at Donghyuck, gaze instantly softening. The smile that suddenly spreads across his face is impossibly fond. “Hyuck, love, show him yours.”

A myriad of emotions flash through Donghyuck’s eyes when he returns Mark’s gaze, but he doesn’t give Mark enough time to identify them. Donghyuck snaps his head back, and Mark notices how his fiancé’s eyes are flaming. He’s back. Donghyuck, who rivals the sun, has returned and Mark can’t help but feel even fonder, even more in love with this beautiful boy than he already feels at the moment. Mark’s heart feels so fucking full, it’s about to implode.

“He’s right, y’know.” Although with only one free hand, Donghyuck manages to unbutton the top two buttons of his dress shirt before dipping his fingers under the collar. They emerge with the chain and, then, Donghyuck’s half of his and Mark’s wedding bands. 

Anyone with eyes can see how the bands on Mark’s finger and Donghyuck’s chain match—truly a pair of identical double-banded silver rings. Simple rings with no embellishments, no engravings. They’re simple and sincere, much like the person who had selected them.

Disbelief creeps onto the fucker’s face, and he, again, opens his mouth, probably going to refute Mark’s claim when Mark suddenly wraps his fingers around the moron’s wrist and _pulls_. The filthy hand around Donghyuck’s wrist comes free; Mark had used the brief lapse of focus to free his love.

“Run, Hyuck,” Mark immediately says, his eyes snapping to his fiancé. When he sees how Donghyuck is unmoving, still rooted to the same spot (and arm still in the air), Mark lets out an impatient growl. “Jeno!” he bellows. “Get him out of here!”

From the corners of his eyes, Mark sees movement. He moves, too, and a fist comes swinging through where his head was seconds ago. The fucker actually threw a punch. Is this what kids are learning these days? Learning to settle disputes with violence? _What is the world coming to_ is what Mark thinks as he steps backward, dodging a ~~short-legged~~ kick that seems to have been aiming for his crotch. This time, Mark rolls his eyes openly. Really, why does the fucker even try?

“Well, if you want a fight, you’re going to get one,” mutters Mark. He’s not going to hold back, now that there’s nothing left in the room to care about. Donghyuck has left with Jeno moments ago, the latter letting Mark know with a hand on the shoulder and a _we’re going_ before he pulled a still-frozen Donghyuck out of the classroom. Mark tilts his head to a side, blinks at the idiot. 

It enrages the boy standing in front of him, for he immediately draws his arm back, hand clenched in a fist. Yet, before the punch comes, Mark twists his torso to the left, clenches his hands into fists and positions them at his chest. His left foot steadies itself on the parquet flooring before his right leg suddenly shoots up and out. 

And Mark lands a hard kick that effectively hits the moron square in the chest.

He gets launched backward, falling onto the floor in a crumpled heap of groans and whimpers and swear words. Mark straightens himself, puts his right foot back on the ground. He dusts the (non-existent) dust off of his clothes before walking over to the boy to stare down at him. “I forgot to tell you, but I learned Taekwondo and Judo as a child. You’re at least a decade too early to be my opponent, _boy_.” And with a good-looking smile, Mark pivots and strides out of the classroom. He doesn’t forget to place a couple of bills on his table. May Donghyuck’s class get a top position in the festival’s competition for their earnings.

In the hallway, Mark whips out his phone, wanting to call Donghyuck when his screen notifies him of a text that was sent minutes ago via the boy’s phone. 

_jeno here. we’re at the field._

 

It doesn’t take Mark long to reach. He easily spots Donghyuck and Jeno, their black and white outfits contrasting against the green of the grass they’re sitting on. Mark makes his way over to the tree, drops himself next to his fiancé before gently lifting the arm that was gripped by the lowlife. The delight that brightens his eyes upon realising how Donghyuck doesn’t reject him vanishes, causing his eyes to darken when he sees the ring of red around Donghyuck’s wrist.

“He hurt you,” Mark murmurs. Helplessness washes over him, and it grows within him the more he stares at the smudges of red on the boy’s chocolate skin. Mark doesn’t dare to touch, afraid of causing more unnecessary pain to his love. “He hurt y–”

“You’ve hurt me, too.”

Donghyuck suddenly speaks. “You– You’ve hurt me.” He sounds so broken, so defeated. “You’ve hurt me, too, Mark.”

The quietness of his fiancé’s tone ruthlessly slashes across Mark’s heart. The pain comes instantly, and it spreads quickly, coursing through his blood, lighting his insides with fire. It burns, it sears, it _hurts_ , but Mark knows that his pain is incomparable with all that Donghyuck has had to experience each time. Mark’s chest slowly constricts as he slowly lifts his eyes to Donghyuck’s face. A gasp lodges itself in his throat when Mark notices how Donghyuck’s eyes are glistening and how he looks so, so sad. Mark chides himself inwardly, wants to kill himself over and over for causing his love to feel this way.

“I– Hyuck, I–” Mark’s mouth inexplicably goes dry, and he stops talking. Frankly, he also doesn’t know how to reply when there’s nothing he can say. Donghyuck speaks the truth—he _has_ been hurt by Mark. With words that weren’t meant to be blurted out, with actions that weren’t realised to have hurt.

With feelings that were admitted much too late.

But there is _one_ thing Mark can say, and it is precisely what he came to say to Donghyuck in the first place. 

“I’m sorry, Donghyuck.”

(Silence descends upon them and Mark takes the chance to glance behind Donghyuck. He’s surprised to see that Jeno isn’t there.)

Gently lifting Donghyuck’s arm, Mark slips a hand under the boy’s wrist. He cushions it with his fingers, and his thumb begins to lightly caress the red smudges at Donghyuck’s pulse point. Mark vehemently prays that the smudges won’t escalate to that of bruising; Donghyuck doesn’t need reminders of what happened today.

“I’m sorry, Hyuck, for being hot and cold towards you,” Mark begins to say. His face is downcast. “I’m sorry for being in denial when I realised that I have developed feelings for you. And I’m so, so sorry for not being willing to accept that I like you even though my heart kept telling me to.” 

Mark doesn’t look at Donghyuck, doesn’t dare to do so because he’s actually afraid of the emotions that might be adorning the boy’s face. What if Donghyuck is indifferent to his apology? What if Donghyuck doesn’t want to hear anything from him at all? Mark just timidly thumbs gentle circles on his fiancé’s wrist. His heart aches as he looks at the red blooms on his fiancé’s sun-kissed skin.

“But, yes,” Mark continues to say. “Yes, I like you, Hyuck. I realised that I like you so much it’s definitely more than liking now.” His thumb stops its movement. “I think– I think I love you. I’ve grown to love you, Hyuck. I– No, wait–” Mark’s brows furrow as he tries to unravel his jumbled thoughts, attempts to phrase the garble into coherent words. It takes almost five seconds, but when he’s completed the task, Mark determinedly raises his head and looks straight into Donghyuck’s eyes.

“Hyuck, I love you. There’s no ‘I think’ because right now, in this moment, I _know_ I love you.” 

And then, this time, Mark reiterates it with finality, with all of the love he has for the boy seated in front of him. With all of his heart, mind, and soul.

“I love you.”

It is as though Mark has said the magic words, for the tears that had been welling up in Donghyuck’s eyes break free. They spill over, streaking down Donghyuck’s face and tracing the curves of Donghyuck’s cheeks and chin and neck before vanishing into the boy’s dress shirt. 

Donghyuck’s crying. He’s not smiling at all, but Mark finds that he’s so in love—even in tears, his fiancé looks so good-looking, so _ethereal_. 

That sudden thought puts a smile on Mark’s face (even though he, too, is crying). And Mark wills himself to not be overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of emotions as he resumes his (spontaneous) confession.

“I love your youth, your naiveté, your recklessness.” 

Eight words. Mark has only spoken those eight words, and yet they seem to be the key to opening Donghyuck’s floodgates. More tears are spilling from his eyes, uncontrollably rolling down his sun-kissed cheeks. Mark is tearing harder as well, his heart aching more when he notices how the corners of Donghyuck’s eyes are reddening. He very much wants to thumb away the tears blurring his fiancé’s beautiful eyes, but Mark knows that now isn’t the time. _Just a little while more, a little while more._

To strangers, those eight words wouldn’t mean anything. But to Donghyuck, those eight words mean _something_. And Mark knows why they’re meaningful to him—those words are what Donghyuck said to him during that argument which made his fiancé leave home. Back then, Mark already thought of Donghyuck’s words to be untrue. But he hadn’t had the courage nor had the chance to tell Donghyuck that. Now, though, Mark does. And he’s damn well going to let Donghyuck know.

“I love that instead of working on your homework as you should, you’re on the laptop searching for recipes to surprise my mornings with. I love that instead of diligently revising for tests, you’re in the kitchen trying out the recipes you’ve found. I love that instead of sleeping, you stayed up to marathon movies with a person you really like. I love that instead of spending your youth like youths do, you chose to be married to the person who has–”

Mark pauses. Inhales a tiny breath to steady his nerves as he gazes into Donghyuck’s eyes. He gingerly takes the boy’s hand into his.

“I love that you chose to be married to the person who has, too, fallen for you.”

A heartbeat of silence. Then, Mark sees his sun. 

He watches how Donghyuck’s eyes slowly light up, with surprise, with realisation. Mark also notices how the tears in them sparkle like gems. The fire within them is stoked, and it doesn’t take long for the flames to grow, to burn steadily, to _prosper_ as they always do. Life returns to Donghyuck’s eyes and the Donghyuck that Mark knows returns.

“Mark, I–” Due to the crying, Donghyuck’s voice sounds low and rough and unused. He parts his lips, seemingly about to say something more when Mark suddenly leans forward, putting his face mere centimetres away from Donghyuck’s. The boy gasps loudly, the action visibly catching him off-guard. “M-Mark–”

“I’m sorry,” whispers Mark, eyes fluttering shut. He sounds defeated, all that confidence and courage punched out of him the moment he used the last bit of them to place himself this close to Donghyuck. “I’m sorry for what I’ve done to you. I know that you probably wouldn’t forgive me right now, but I still want to sincerely apologise for what I did.”

Mark thinks he hasn’t been this close to Donghyuck (or his face) before, and the almost non-existent distance is doing things to him. Being this close, Sunflower Mark can clearly feel the heat his Beloved Sun emanates. It burns, _sears_ , but it’s a sensation that Mark is familiar with and warmly welcomes. And while he knows the dangers of being too close to the sun, knows that he may have his bright yellow petals burned, Mark still chooses to stay. 

He chooses to continue loving Donghyuck.

“I’m truly sorry, Donghyuck.” 

Silence. Then–

“Hyuck,” Donghyuck’s voice softly says. “You’re supposed to call me that.”

Mark’s eyes fly open, and the sight that greets them is simply beautiful. Mark sees the entire universe in Donghyuck’s eyes.

“H-Hyuck…?”

Donghyuck nods, the action causing his forehead to lightly knock into Mark’s. It’s cute, the pained grunt that Donghyuck softly lets out. Mark quietly giggles at the cute sound, and he earns himself another light forehead bump. “I’m in pain! How can you still laugh at me!” grumbles Donghyuck.

Somehow, courage comes easily to Mark now. He rests his forehead against Donghyuck’s, looks into the boy’s eyes, and matter-of-factly says, “Because you’re cute and everything you do is cute.”

“T-That’s not a legit r-reason!”

“To me, it is. Also, you’re cute when you’re spluttering.”

“S-Shut up!” 

Clearly embarrassed, Donghyuck pulls away. He breaks the eye contact, and his chocolate cheeks visibly redden. They remind Mark of cherries atop chocolate ice cream, and he immediately chuckles, earning himself a loud _harrumph_. He bites back a bark of laughter after seeing how blotchy Donghyuck’s face has become and decides to stop his teasing. Instead, Mark resumes rubbing gentle circles on Donghyuck’s wrist. Blue and purple are beginning to appear; Mark’s face darkens.

They stay like this, Mark thumbing circles on Donghyuck’s wrist as Donghyuck looks on (while Mark looks on at Donghyuck). The silence that descends upon them is comfortable; Mark feels at ease. 

“I know I’m so very late, but I want you to know that I do love you,” Mark quietly says, breaking the silence. “I hope I’m not too late in letting you know that.” 

“Mm, you’re… not,” Donghyuck replies, quietly as well. “Well, you _are_ slightly late–”

At his fiancé’s tongue-in-cheek, Mark smiles. 

“–but, y’know, better late than never.”

Mark nods in agreement. “Yeah. Better late than never.” He looks up at Donghyuck, gives his fiancé a fond, fond, _fond_ smile. “Thank you. Thank you for giving me another chance, Hyuck.”

A seemingly haughty expression forms on Donghyuck’s face as he clears his throat loudly. “You’re most welcome, peasant.” 

“Why are you so cute?” Mark says while fondly shaking his head. When Donghyuck sticks out his tongue in response, Mark giggles. “See, you’re being cute again.”

Donghyuck sighs; Mark hears the mock exasperation. “I’m going to have to get used to you giggling more now, don’t I?” grumbles Donghyuck.

Mark nods. “Uh huh.”

“How did I not realise that you were this… playful?”

“If it helps, I didn’t know, too,” replies Mark thoughtfully. “You brought it out of me, I guess.” He tilts his head, gives his fiancé yet another smile. “This is what you do to me, love–” Mark freezes. He gives Donghyuck a tentative glance. “I-I– I mean, Hyuck.”

Contrary to what others might think, it’s not a slip of Mark’s tongue. Referring to Donghyuck as “love” has been happening for a while—since Mark accepted the feelings he has for his fiancé and subsequently brought out his half of their wedding bands to slip it onto his ring finger. While he has always been referring to Donghyuck as his fiancé (both consciously and unconsciously), this endearment somehow comes to Mark as naturally and easily as breathing. 

Donghyuck drops his head and goes silent for a couple of seconds. He must have heard Mark’s slip-up. He must have. “I… I haven’t forgiven you yet,” Donghyuck says softly, and Mark feels as though he’s been graced with a gentle flap of an angel’s wing. “So you’re not allowed to call me… that.” And Donghyuck snatches his hand out of Mark’s gentle grasp to fold his arms across his chest. “You can’t call me ‘love’ until you’ve earned my forgiveness.”

Even though Donghyuck has his head down, Mark still manages to make out how the boy’s lower lip is protruding. _Dammit_. Mark’s pouting fiancé is so damn adorable, and it’s taking _all_ of Mark’s will not to gather Donghyuck up in his arms and just cuddle his adorable chocolate bear of a fiancé. 

“Don’t worry, Hyuck,” Mark says determinedly, his hands finding purchase in the hem of his shirt (lest he does something like reaching over to pinch the cheeks of his lovable boy). “I plan to.”

Donghyuck doesn’t reply, just hums in acknowledgement.

It’s enough. Mark is more than satisfied, more than content with what he has achieved today. Donghyuck hadn’t run away from him. He stayed to hear him out. He stayed to listen to his apology and confession of love. Although he isn’t forgiven by the boy ( _yet_ ), Mark is happy with his progress.

And now, all he has to do is continue to be hot, hot, _hot_ and earn back Donghyuck’s trust (and love).

 

(“Purely out of… curiosity, but are there any other times when you, y’know, love me too?”

“I love you when you’re in the kitchen, puttering around the space in search of pots and pans and bowls. I love you when you’re cooking, when you’re whipping eggs or slicing meat or chopping up vegetables or washing rice. When you’re working so hard just to feed us a meal. 

“I love you when you laugh, unabashedly loud yet melodious, and your nose reflexively scrunches. I love you when I’m gifted with your laughter, when on your face there’s a smile so bright, so beautiful. And I’d find myself falling for you again, this time harder and deeper.

“Lo– I mean, Hyuck, I love you even when you doze off on the couch with a movie still playing on the television. I love you when I carry you into your room and lay you on your bed. I fall for you a whole lot more when you would adorably bury your face into your pillow, when your hands reach out for your lion plushie, and, oh, when you suddenly sleep-talk.”

“I-I do? Sleep-talking?”

“Yes, love, you d– I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to– I mean, I _mean_ to call you that but–”

“… It’s fine. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it this time. Now, continue.”

“I… love you when you shuffle into the kitchen on weekend mornings looking so adorably sleepy. When your eyes are bleary, and you hold your cup with two hands because you don’t trust them to be fully awake, reminding me of a bear cub hugging a pot of honey. 

“I also love you whenever I catch you looking at the cap in your room. Did you know that the entire universe of planets, stars, and moons could be seen in your bright, lively eyes, Hyuck?

“You might not believe me, but please do when I say that I love you even when you purposely use ketchup to draw faces on the omelettes. They’re really nice drawings but won’t you write ‘I love you’ one day?”

“… We’ll see about that.”

“Alright, I’ll patiently wait for that omelette.”

“Don’t count on it to be tomorrow morning or the next.”

“So I’ll get that omelette on the following morning?”

“N-No! I– Ugh, don’t put words in my mouth when you know exactly what I mean, Mark Lee!” 

“You’re spluttering–”

“Shut up! I’m not cute!”

“You’re _endearing_.” 

“… Shut up.”

“Hyuck, it doesn’t matter _when_ I love you, because I love you. When you’re with me, when I’m with you, when we’re together right next to each other. Of course, that doesn’t mean that I don’t love you when you’re not with me, when we’re not together in the same space. I would still love you the same.

“I love you because you’re my sun, and I’m your sunflower.

“I love you, and I’m yours. Forever.”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! 
> 
> come talk to me-slash-yell at me to update on twitter: soobiscuits
> 
> ps, did y'all see how i've up-ped the chapter count to 6 (eeks!)
> 
> pps, happy birthday mark! i hope you enjoyed your chicken + watermelon cake lmao


	5. everything means nothing if i can't have you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why does this chapter have a title? 
> 
> BECAUSE MARKHYUCK PROVIDED SO I HAD TO DO IT. I HAD TO UPDATE. 
> 
> (no, don't come tell me that i was supposed to update this week i cAN'T HEAR YOU OVER HYUCK'S FUCKING BEAUTIFUL VOICE)
> 
> also, the title fits this chapter's content. so, yay.
> 
> THANK THE BOYS FOR THIS CHAPTER
> 
> enjoy!

Mark nervously plays with the collar of his sleeping tee.

“I’ll be… fine,” says Donghyuck. He stops fluffing his pillow to look up at Mark who’s standing by his bed. “I won’t get nightmares from today because it’s not a big deal.” Donghyuck then returns his attention to his pillow, brows furrowing. “Also, why does my pillow feel so much flatter than when I left?”

Mark _anxiously_ scratches the back of his neck. “Uh,” he begins to say, slightly timid and cautious. Mark doesn’t look at his fiancé. “I might have slept on your bed during the nights you weren’t… here.” Then, a mumble of an afterthought. “Because I missed you.”

“… Goodnight, Mark.”

“Are you– Are you sure you don’t need me to accompany you? At least until you fall asleep?” Mark quickly says, eyes darting to Donghyuck in time to see the boy flopping down onto his bed, head laying on his pillow. “I’m just afraid–”

“I’ll be _fine_. Sheesh, such a worrywart.” 

Mark knows he’s whipped when he finds Donghyuck rolling his eyes at him in annoyance cute (and his fiancé’s under-the-breath grumble of _how did I not realise what a worrywart you are before_ endearing). He bites back a smile when Donghyuck grabs the brown bear plushie—a Build-A-Bear which Mark built—from the corner of the bed where Mark left it and places it next to him, on the side where it’s not occupied by his own lion plushie. It’s bloody adorable, this sight of Donghyuck being sandwiched by the two plushies; Mark wishes he could snap a shot for memories’ sake (and for use as a phone wallpaper).

“Okay, okay. I’ll just–” Mark walks over to Donghyuck’s desk and pulls out his chair. He makes a move to sit on it. “I’ll just sit here and–”

“That’s creepy.” 

From where he’s lying on the bed, Donghyuck is looking at Mark in seemingly distaste. His brows are furrowed, the corners of his lips slightly downturned. “You’re like… watching me. I’m uncomfortable.”

“Shit. Okay, maybe I’ll–”

_Thump thump thump._

In his haste to find an appropriate spot in Donghyuck’s room to root himself at, Mark misses the way Donghyuck loudly pats the edge of his bed. He does, however, get to see his fiancé thrumming his fingers on a spot near the bear plushie, right at the edge. It doesn’t take a genius to know what Donghyuck is implying. Mark all but scrambles over.

“Careful!” chides Donghyuck when Mark almost topples onto the bed, having dashed over to the spot a little too quickly. “If you squash Brownie, I demand you bring him back to the workshop and fix him up!” 

Mark knows he shouldn’t be jealous about a plushie (which he bought, too) but it’s being hugged by Donghyuck right now, and Mark can’t help but wistfully think: _I want to be tightly hugged by Hyuck too_ … He shakes his head to snap himself out of it. Slowly bending his knees to sit on the floor, Mark gingerly asks, “Right here is… okay with you?”

Donghyuck nods. “I might really have nightmares if you sit at my desk and be a creepy uncle.”

“I’m only eight years older than you…” Mark mutters under his breath, his mock-scathing tone all bark and no bite. “I’m not _that_ old.” 

His fiancé doesn’t respond, just busies himself with arranging the two plushies at his side. Mark watches Donghyuck for a couple of seconds before he, in the silence that descends upon the room, gets himself comfortable at the spot Donghyuck has designated for him to sit at. He perches at the edge of Donghyuck’s bed, tentatively rests his arms next to the bear plushie, props his chin onto a forearm, before fixing his gaze on the boy. His eyes go fond instantly. 

“I can feel you staring at me. Stop it.”

It’s telling how Donghyuck is supposedly frowning, yet Mark notices how the corners of his lips are twitching, seemingly itching to curl up into a grin. His fiancé apparently doesn’t mean what he says. Mark smiles. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop _gazing_ at you,” he says, redirecting his eyes to Donghyuck’s torso instead. He watches how the boy’s chest rise and fall with every breath he takes. “Now, get some sleep. It’s getting late.”

“I forgot to switch off the lights,” whispers Donghyuck, an eye cracking open to look at Mark. “I can’t sleep with the lights on.”

Mark chuckles. “Didn’t see the lights stopping you whenever you fell asleep in the living room.” Donghyuck shoots him a(n one-eyed) glare; Mark laughs. “I’ll go switch the lights off. You close your eyes.” And he gets up, goes over to the switch. His index hovers over it.

“Goodnight, Hyuck. Sweet dreams.”

 _Dream of me_ , thinks Mark but he doesn’t say it.

Donghyuck brings the plushies at his sides closer to him as he squirms, nestling deeper into his bed. He shuts his eyes after that, and Mark takes it as an indication to switch the lights off. 

Retracing his steps, Mark cautiously treads back to his designated spot, returning his body and limbs to their positions before. He tries to make out his fiancé’s face in the darkness, managing to trace with his eyes a faint outline of the boy’s side profile illuminated by the silver light streaming through the thin gaps of the curtains. 

Ethereal, Donghyuck is. And Mark knows he’d never find another who would ignite in him such emotions, such strong feelings of affection and fondness. Truth be told, Donghyuck is enough. _More_ than enough.

Content, Mark shuts his eyes, too, resting his head on Donghyuck’s soft bed. And he would have been perfectly fine with being able to hear the sounds of his fiancé drifting off to sleep when Mark hears a barely-audible chime of–

“Sweet dreams, Minhyung.”

(Sure enough, Mark dreams of Donghyuck that night.)

 

\---

 

It happens for a few more nights after that.

Despite Donghyuck’s dismissions of _please it’s not a big deal and I won’t have nightmares_ and _oh god I can’t believe you’re such a bloody worrywart_ , Mark remains afraid that Donghyuck may have nightmares, and he takes it upon himself to guard his beloved fiancé. To stay by his side (literally) every night while the boy sleeps and hopefully dreams of the most wonderful of dreams ~~because he deserves them~~.

And every morning, Mark would wake to ~~an aching body~~ the delicious aroma of breakfast, his nose sniffing as he follows the scent to the kitchen where his fiancé is back to puttering around the space, preparing their meal. It’s a sight Mark very much cherishes and treasures, and a sight he now knows that he would never be tired of because it has become an inherent part of his, no, _their_ life together.

Mark can’t live without Donghyuck. He’s tried and found that he can’t. He truly can’t. 

He _just_ can’t, not anymore.

The sixth morning should have been like every other morning. Mark should have woken up to the aroma of Donghyuck’s breakfast, should have stretched his ~~aching~~ body before traipsing out to the kitchen as he has done for the past five mornings. He should have leaned on the doorframe, his eyes instantly going fond at the sight of his cute fiancé bouncing on his feet, a soft tune being hummed over the sounds of his cooking. 

Yet, the moment consciousness floods Mark, and he slowly opens his eyes, he instantly realises that it’s not going to be like all the other mornings. 

There’s no aroma wafting in the air for Mark’s nose to catch a whiff of. There aren’t any sounds of cooking reaching him from the kitchen. And Donghyuck most certainly isn’t in that space, puttering around as he prepares breakfast. 

Mark would know. Because he’s looking at said person. 

For Donghyuck is right next to him. His face mere centimetres away.

The breath that Mark is supposed to exhale lodges in his throat, and he can’t breathe. Or more specifically, Mark _doesn’t_ want to breathe. 

It takes all but seconds for Mark to decide that he shouldn’t make a single sound. That he shouldn’t make a single move, not even in the slightest. Although Donghyuck is a terribly heavy sleeper, Mark still doesn’t want to risk waking his fiancé up. Doesn’t want to be the one to rouse Donghyuck from his slumber.

Doesn’t want to lose this precious, precious chance to gaze at his fiancé up close.

Mark feels Donghyuck’s breath peppering the tip of his nose and his lips. He marvels at the constellation of moles on his fiancé’s face and at his short but thick lashes fanning the skin below his eyes. Mark smiles at how the boy’s parted lips are unconsciously curled into a slight pout, their colour a pretty shade of red. 

Then, he spots the tiny scar at Donghyuck’s right eye. The one that Donghyuck once mentioned. And before Mark even registers what he’s doing, his lips are already there, gently grazing the mark. Wistfulness seeps into him as he whispers against the boy’s skin, “I wish I could have been there to protect you, love.”

Donghyuck’s brows suddenly furrow, and his mouth twitches. He lets out a soft whimper while his lips pucker and protrude like a goldfish’s. Mark immediately backs away from the boy, the movement, thankfully, quick and quiet. His eyes dart down to his fiancé’s mouth. He sees how red they are, how… delicious they look. Mark’s eyes darken, and his lips feel dry all of a sudden. He subconsciously licks them.

They’re enticing, Donghyuck’s lips. The plumpness, the gorgeous shade of red they’re in, and the pretty curl of his upper lip are attracting Mark’s attention, and Mark finds that his body is somehow restraining itself from doing… things. Especially his hands. They itch, and they have the urge to reach up to the boy’s lips, to gently thumb them, to softly and fondly caress them. At the thought, Mark’s hands jerk.

It’s then does he feel one of his hand being enveloped around something.

Mark looks down. Surprise floods him immediately, and he sharply inhales, eyes blowing wide.

At the sight of Donghyuck’s hand in his.

 _How– How in the world–_

Mark doesn’t dare to believe what he’s seeing. Not only is Donghyuck’s head resting next to his, the boy’s hand is somehow in his own, too? “How did this… happen?” Mark mutters to himself as he gently lifts his left hand to take a closer look at Donghyuck’s right. He’s careful not to bring their interlaced hands up too high, fearing that Donghyuck might wake from the movement.

Donghyuck’s hand is, well, like all other hands. Normal-looking. Average. His fingers are, well, too, normal. Though, the boy’s fingernails have been bitten a whole lot, and Mark wonders when did his fiancé develop such a habit of doing so. It’s not a bad habit per se, but he wants to change it, get rid of it because it’s, frankly, unhygienic. 

Still, Mark is confused as to how Donghyuck came to rest beside him, the boy’s face mere centimetres away from his own and their hands entwined. “How–” Mark glances up at his fiancé, as though looking at his angelic sleeping face will give him the answers he needs. 

It doesn’t. Donghyuck’s lips, though, do once again attract his attention and, this time, Mark _consciously_ licks his lips as he slowly dips his head down and towards his fiancé’s…

…only for his forehead to receive a hard knock.

Pain erupts across Mark’s forehead, and white furiously dots his vision. Mark uses the hand that Donghyuck isn’t holding onto to rub at the aching spot. His forehead has to be reddening if the blossoming pain is any indication. Too focused on his forehead, Mark doesn’t even stop to ponder what could have caused him pain until he hears a familiar nasal, honeyed voice.

“Thief.”

Biting back a remark, Mark looks up and finds a pair of eyes looking back at him.

The pair of eyes that, to Mark, contains his entire universe.

“Thief,” whispers Donghyuck. His brows are slightly furrowed, eyes a tad narrowed, and the corners of his lips are curled a little downwards, forming a tiny frown. “Were you planning on kissing me without asking me? You’re a thief, Mark Lee, that’s what you are.”

At his fiancé’s (cute) accusations, Mark’s mouth runs dry once again and he doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to rebut Donghyuck’s words because, well, it’s true—Mark did almost kiss Donghyuck without asking him for permission. He _is_ a thief, a kiss-stealing thief.

Donghyuck pouts, seemingly annoyed at his fiancé’s lack of response. “Say something, you idiot,” he snaps.

Mark coughs. “W-What do you want me to s-say? You speak the truth, Hyuck. I d-did almost kiss you without asking you.” He nervously uses the hand that isn’t holding onto Donghyuck’s to rub at his nape. “Sorry? If you wanted an apology.”

“Was wanting to kiss me a mistake? A bad enough misjudgement on your part that you’re saying you’re sorry?”

The hurt that flashes across Donghyuck’s face isn’t missed by Mark, and neither was the boy’s tone of utter disbelief unheard. Mark immediately shakes his head, takes both of Donghyuck’s hands into his and blurts out, “No! N-No, it wasn’t a mistake. Wanting to k-kiss you would _never_ be a mistake or a misjudgement.” He brings their hands up to his chest, cradles them against it. “Love, please. Please believe me when I say that. When I say wanting to kiss you wasn’t a mistake.”

Donghyuck doesn’t reply. He seems to be spacing out, eyes seemingly staring at their hands. Then, he quietly says, “You’re wearing it.”

“Huh?” Mark dumbly responds. He blinks his eyes in confusion.

“You’re wearing it,” Donghyuck repeats, his voice as soft as the first time he said it. “That’s the reason why I ended up falling asleep next to you.” He drops his head, continues to mumble. “I was surprised. Had to get off the bed and sit next to you to take a much closer look at your hand.” Donghyuck takes a shaky breath. 

“Because I couldn’t believe that you’re wearing our wedding ring.”

A moment of pause. Then, Mark looks down at their hands. He easily spots the silver that sits prettily on his left ring finger, the band twinkling under the rays of the morning sun. At the sight of the item, Mark smiles. “Yeah,” he says, proudly. “I’m wearing it. Been wearing it for a while now, actually.”

Another moment of pause. “Why? Why are you wearing it now when you said that you wouldn’t?” Donghyuck’s voice quivers. He sounds so vulnerable, as though he would break down into tears in the next second; Mark’s heart wrenches. “You told me that if you had a choice, you wouldn’t wear it no matter what.”

“I did. But my choice, now, is to wear it,” Mark answers immediately. Unlike his fiancé, his voice doesn’t waver, doesn’t show any indication of hesitation nor uncertainty. Mark stands firm, remains steadfast in his decision to show how much he loves Donghyuck. “And I’m wearing it because I love you,” he says. “I chose to wear it even before we’re getting married because I realised that I’ve come to love you, Hyuck.” A thumb fondly caresses the silver.

“I… love you so very much,” Mark whispers, reverently.

He slips a hand out of Donghyuck’s grasp, extends it across the barely-existent distance between them. It gently dips under his fiancé’s collar and, seconds later, emerges with Donghyuck’s half of their wedding rings. Mark looks at the silver hanging around the chain, eyes unbelievably fond as he says, “I’ve come to wear it for the same reason as you always have been. While I’m uncertain if you have genuine feelings for me, I’m absolutely sure that I have feelings for you.” He looks up from the band and at Donghyuck. Determination swirls in Mark’s eyes and the smile on his face grows fonder. 

“I want to get married with you. That’s why I’m wearing the ring.”

Donghyuck’s eyes widen and Mark sees the surprise that defines his fiancé’s expression. He thinks he caught the corners of the boy’s lips twitching but Mark dare not label that split-second movement as an indication of delight. Assumptions only get one’s hopes up and when expectations aren’t fulfilled, they hurt a lot more than one would think. 

Yet, Mark’s assumption becomes the truth when a pretty shade of crimson suddenly paints the apples of Donghyuck’s cheeks at the same time a smile breaks across his face. Though, in the next second, the boy quickly drops his head, visibly embarrassed.

At his fiancé’s adorable display of bashfulness, Mark silently chuckles to himself. An urge to tease the boy washes over him, and Mark lightly tugs at Donghyuck’s hands as he dips his head down to look up at his fiancé. “Hyuck?”

Mark notices how Donghyuck’s lips move but he doesn’t hear what the boy is saying. He edges his head closer, positions his ear in front of the boy’s mouth. Mark wills himself not to combust when Donghyuck speaks once more, for the sensation of Donghyuck’s breath peppering his ear is _doing things_ to him. He forces himself to focus on his fiancé’s nasal, honeyed voice.

“If I didn’t have feelings for you,” murmurs Donghyuck. “I wouldn’t have agreed to the marriage.” A pause; Mark feels Donghyuck’s grip on his hands tightening. He returns the favour, his strength comforting and reassuring instead. “If I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t have told my dad to help your dad when he heard the news.”

The force of Donghyuck’s words hit Mark like a train. 

“W-Wait–” splutters Mark as he straightens himself, the abrupt action almost thwacking Donghyuck in the chin. He shoots his fiancé an apologetic look before continuing to stutter in absolute bewilderment. “H-How did you– How did you know that I am my dad’s son? No, wait.” Mark shakes his head. “How do you even know me in the first place?”

Was it the utter incredulity in his tone that caused Donghyuck to burst into laughter? Or was it the dumbfounded look on his face? Either way, Mark is blessed with his fiancé’s melodious peal of laughter as it fills the room, bathing the space with its bright and joyful notes. 

(Mark is also blessed with the tightened grip of Donghyuck’s hands on his. And he doesn’t inform Donghyuck of his unconscious action, choosing to only take a quick glance at their entwined hands. Mark’s heart wrenches in the good, fond way when he sees how tight his fiancé is holding onto his hands.)

“‘How did you know that I am my dad’s son’? Hilarious,” Donghyuck barks. He’s slightly out of breath and soft, tiny (and adorable) giggles interrupt his words. “How did I know that you’re your dad’s son? I googled, that’s how.”

Mark desperately wills himself to not think that Donghyuck’s exaggerated eye-roll is cute. Of course, he fails spectacularly, and a grin would have made its way to his face if not for a thought that shoots to the front of his mind. Mark blurts it out, “But, how did you know me in the first place?” He tilts his head to a side, confusion seeping into him as he continues to say, continues to think about Donghyuck’s words. “I don’t think we’ve ever met before all of this.”

Donghyuck goes pointedly silent. He chews on his lower lip and avoids Mark’s eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to know that there’s something the boy isn’t telling. Something that Mark doesn’t know and will not be able to know if Donghyuck doesn’t wish to share. Which is fine, honestly, because everyone is entitled to their own secrets. It’s just… Mark really wants to know. But, if Donghyuck isn’t up for revealing it, he won’t probe. ~~Respect is one of the many keys to a successful, loving marriage.~~

Thankfully, Donghyuck doesn’t seem to want to take the information to his grave, for moments later, while shrugging his shoulders, he says, “That’s another story for another day.” 

“Oh. Okay,” replies Mark. He gives up on getting his fiancé to return his eye contact. Instead, he looks down at their entwined hands for the umpteenth time. Notices how his silver band complements Donghyuck’s chocolate-coloured skin and Mark can’t help but think how pretty Donghyuck’s left ring finger would be _when_ the boy’s own wedding ring is finally slotted onto it.

Absorbed in his reverie, Mark doesn’t register anything until he suddenly feels himself lurching forward. He comes to his senses and it’s then does he see that he’s being pulled forward by _his_ hand that’s wrapped around Donghyuck’s wedding band and chain. 

No, wait.

There’s another hand curled around his hand. A hand that’s drenched in rich, warm chocolate. 

“If… If you wanna… If you wanna kiss me, do it openly,” Donghyuck says quietly. “Ask me. Ask me properly. Ask for my permission.” An eye-roll. A scoff. “What are you, a thief?”

Mark hears his fiancé’s words, but he barely registers them. He’s distracted by Donghyuck’s pretty hand, his sense of touch overwhelmed by the boy’s heat. He’s distracted with the vanishing distance between them, as Donghyuck pulls him forward and towards himself. Mark doesn’t dare think of what his fiancé is up to, of what might happen, of what _is_ going to happen.

The pair of lips that were enticing Mark before enters his field of vision, and Mark _really_ can’t help but snap his eyes to them. But before he can let himself be captivated by their plumpness and redness, they’re parting and moving to form words as Donghyuck speaks once more.

“Are you a… thief, Mark Lee?” 

Without taking his eyes off of his fiancé’s delicious-looking lips, Mark shakes his head. He shakes his head in objection again when the boy softly says, “Are you sure you’re not? Because you look like you’re going to kiss me without asking me.”

This time, Mark’s mind registers Donghyuck’s words. And he then gingerly asks, “Can I?” Mark shifts his gaze upwards, looks into Donghyuck’s eyes—as they always have been, they’re still large and searching and simply beautiful. “Can I… kiss you, Hyuck?”

Donghyuck doesn’t reply. His eyes look back at Mark’s for a couple more seconds before fluttering shut. 

Not wanting to assume (though he’s 99% certain that it’s a _yes_ ), Mark asks, “Is that a yes?” 

It’s fucking cute, the seemingly annoyed grunt that Donghyuck emits and Mark almost— _almost_ —giggles. He doesn’t. He just whispers, “’kay. I’m going t-to k-k-kiss you now.” Mark gulps. “Okay. G-Going to n-now.”

Another annoyed grunt.

Mark takes a shaky breath. He’s nervous. Absolutely nervous, fucking nervous, super duper nervous. And Mark would throw out more synonyms but, uh, he doesn’t have the time nor brain cells to do so. Not when he’s wholly committed and trying to slowly, _excruciatingly_ slowly edge his face closer to Donghyuck’s (without falling forward due to his damned nerves). The distance between his lips and his fiancé’s decrease with every move and within seconds, only a finger’s width of space separates them. 

(If his sweaty hands are putting Donghyuck off, the boy doesn’t mention it. Though, Mark doesn’t mind how tightly his hands are being gripped by his fiancé. Is… Donghyuck nervous too?)

_Here we go._

Just then, in Mark’s peripheral field of vision, he sees crimson flooding Donghyuck’s cheeks. And, there and then, his mind makes a split-second decision without consulting the rest of him ~~(not that there would have been any rejections)~~.

Mark’s lips press lightly on a crimson-coloured cheek, and Mark almost giggles when he feels the cheek trembling against his lips.

Donghyuck’s nervous, too.

 

(“I thought you’d kiss me on the lips.”

“Mm, I wanted to. But your cheeks looked more delicious, so I went for them instead.”

“… What kind of logic is that.”

“My logic. Love logic. Now, shall we have breakfast?”

“What do you want to have? I don’t think we have many ingredients left.”

“I was thinking of heading out. My treat.”

“You said it! I’m gonna empty your bank account.”

“If you wish. Though, you might want to remember that my account is yours as well because, y’know, what’s mine is yours now that we’re married.”

“W-We’re not married! I mean, n-not yet! We’re not– We’re not legally married. Yet.”

“It still applies. And, also, what’s yours is mine. Meaning… you’re _mine_. I ain’t sharing.”

“… Wait. Are you– Were you– No way.”

“What.”

“You’re an idiot, Mark Lee. I didn’t think you are, but you are.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

“Have you been jealous of Jeno all this while…?”

“… W-Well–”

“We’re best friends! There can be nothing between us and there _is_ nothing between us! Oh god, you’re an idiot. I’m marrying an idiot. _I’m marrying an idiot._ ”

“You didn’t have to call me an idiot thrice…”

“But you are. The world ought to thank me, by the way, because I’m making you _my_ idiot. You’re my idiot, Mark Lee.”

“… I know I’m being insulted but… I don’t want to be anyone else’s idiot too. I’m all yours, Lee Donghyuck.”

“…”

“…”

“I’m hungry. Let’s get outta here. I’m still gonna empty your bank account with the many plates of pancakes I’m going to inhale.”

“Mm hmm. Why are you so cute?”

“S-Shut up!”)

 

\---

 

Things return to how they were before The Dark Days of Donghyuck’s Absence (as termed by Mark).

Donghyuck resumes his making of meals for them, and Mark is more than happy to be able to eat his fiancé’s homecooked food again. (He’s not pleased to have Yukhei eyeing his breakfasts during mornings, though.)

Mark resumes his sending and fetching of Donghyuck to and from school, positively delighted to have the boy’s endless chatter filling his car again. (Mark’s not particularly happy whenever, at Donghyuck’s insistence, Jeno hitches a ride back home.)

Unfortunately, Mark also goes back to sleeping in his own room and on his own bed, a request vehemently put forward and carried out by Donghyuck himself—and boy is he ruthless. For every time Donghyuck finds his fiancé perched at the edge of his bed, he would kick Mark’s arms and head off his bed and push Mark all the way out of his bedroom before slamming the door and locking it. (To prevent Mark from trespassing without permission, the boy even somehow managed to get hold of the key to his bedroom [which Mark _stupidly_ hid in his drawer].)

Then, after the door locks, Donghyuck would yell, “WE’RE NOT SHARING A BED UNTIL WE’RE LEGALLY MARRIED. YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF ME, UNCLE MARK!” (And Mark would desperately hope that none of their neighbours hear his fiancé’s [lack-of-tact] outbursts. He doesn’t need the police to knock on the front door.)

In spite of that last bit, Mark’s still glad and thrilled that Donghyuck is home. The apartment hadn’t felt like one in the boy’s absence, and Mark actually dreaded returning to it after work during those days. It just didn’t feel right. There was no warmth, there was no presence, there was no _Donghyuck_. The space regressed to its literal meaning—a house. But when Donghyuck came, wildly crashing into Mark’s life like a stray comet all those months ago, he changed what the apartment meant. It progressed to that of a home to Mark.

For Mark, Donghyuck is his home.

And the boy will _always_ be, no matter what the future holds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're down to our last chapter!! are y'all excited? I AM.
> 
> though, don't expect the last chapter to be up next week. or the next. or next next. or even next next next because writing markhyuck fluff takes a lot out of me so, uh, actually, i've been writing my other markhyuck fic instead (the pac rim one). so i'll probably be completing that (only 2 chapters for that baby!) before coming back to this. 
> 
> yep. 
> 
> also, could markhyuck record more covers too like doyoung because, uh, I WOULD DIE FOR THEM. or, y'know, debutagaininasubunit-isweariwouldbuytheiralbums. but, this is sm we're talking about. so. hopes and dreams, i don't know 'em.
> 
> :)
> 
> come scream with me about markhyuck on twitter: soobiscuits


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